


Free-To-Loot

by meledea, ravelqueen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (though in the context of the game world), Ableist Language, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Blood, Derek Hale & Scott McCall Friendship, Derek Hale Relationship Advisor, EVERYONE IS FRIENDS THOUGH, Fluff, Internalized racism, Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Lydia Martin takes none of your shit, M/M, Melissa is so very done with Stiles, Oral Sex, Pining, Racist Language, Stiles makes his life harder, bad decision making, everyone is a scott stan, mentions of unrequited Sterek and Stydia, slight gore, so fluffy it will make your teeth rot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2030346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meledea/pseuds/meledea, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravelqueen/pseuds/ravelqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Um, I'm sorry to ask, but am I allowed to pull my pants up again?” he asks the burglar? Thief? Scott didn't really have a lot of experience getting accosted by someone with a knife, so he doesn't know the protocol here.</i>
</p><p>(Or the one where Stiles meets Scott on the job (as it were), but their romance takes off anyway.)</p><p>Skyrim-Fusion, but does not require any knowledge of the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This monster was not supposed to be so long. I don't know what happened, I blacked out and suddenly it was already 10k long and still going.
> 
> My eternal thanks goes to Penny, who didn't only create the beautiful art to this fic (and you should totally check out her [high-res versions!](http://meledea.tumblr.com/post/93000422633)), but was my cheerleader, Skyrim-fact-checker and all around inspiration. Without you I wouldn't have managed writing this in any good and timely matter, you are a treasure <3!
> 
> Another thanks goes to my beta ladybubblegum, who provided a high-speed beta, because I'm always _always_ late. And a big thank you also to the mods of the scilesreversebang who were helpful and lenient and without whom we wouldn't be here.
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is (hopefully) understandable even if you've never played the game, but for those interested in a bit more a short Skyrim primer:
> 
> Skyrim is part of the Elder Scrolls series and is a high fantasy adventure game. Skyrim can be equated to Northern Europe, and is home of the Nords (who are basically vikings). The game is set during a conflict between the Stormcloak Rebellion (Nord nationalists) and the Imperial army, because the Imperials want a unified Tamriel and the Nords want Skyrim For The Nords. There is a pretty good map of all of Tamriel's regions [here](http://majamaki.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/skyrim-map-by-mottis86-lg.jpg).
> 
> There are ten races of people in Tamriel, any of whom can be turned into a Werewolf. The main ones you need to know about are:  
> Bosmer (aka. Wood elves, fairly short), Imperial (fairly Western-European in appearance), Nords (taller, stockier, and paler skinned), Khajiit (cat-people), and Argonians (lizard people). The rest can be found [here](http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/Races_\(Skyrim\)).
> 
> Both sides of the war (and most of the citizens of Skyrim) are pretty racist, especially to the beast races - the Khajiit in particular are heavily oppressed, not allowed in the cities and consistently treated with suspicion. They have a mutual dislike of the Argonians.
> 
> Werewolves in the game world tend to be more violent than what we are used to from Teen Wolf. I tweaked the mythology a bit, so that they _can_ control themselves, but they are much more bestial and actually all turn into a more anthropomorphised wolf on transformation (think Peter from season one)

 

The thing is, Scott wasn't expecting any trouble. After months of always looking over his shoulder and worrying about someone following them or about not getting through the borders they had finally reached Falkreath without any signs of any trouble. They had found an inn which would mean the first night inside since they left the last big city in Cyrodil. So finally no need to worry about predators trying to eat them in the middle of the night. Which was an old stupid reflex anyway – any predator worth his salt would take one sniff of Scott and run far away. But you don't unlearn a lifetime of precaution and fear just by becoming a werewolf.

 

So when he finally settled down in his little inn room, he thought they had actually managed to flee their city without any undue complications. Not so, apparently.

 

“Um, I'm sorry to ask, but am I allowed to pull my pants up again?” he asks the burglar? Thief? Scott didn't really have a lot of experience getting accosted by someone with a knife, so he doesn't know the protocol here. When the young man had entered through the window they had both frozen, but that was about all that he could think of.

 

“Cause, I'm sorry, but my arms are kind of cramping?” They really, really are, too. But the thief hasn't put the knife down. He hadn't done anything at all yet, aside from stare. Which is kind of uncomfortable if Scott is honest.

 

This finally seems to snap the other guy out of whatever trance he had fallen into.

 

“Oh! Um, of course, I - “ and now he seems kind of flustered, not looking at Scott directly and playing with his knife. “I wasn't- “ he says and suddenly seems to realise that Scott is kind of focused on the knife in his hands. It can't be healthy to play with it like that, especially because the guy looks liable to drop it at any point. It doesn't really inspire a lot of confidence in Scott, is all he's saying.

 

Something of his apprehension must have shown on his face – or maybe the fact that he hasn't actually started pulling his pants up tipped him off. “By the Nine, don't be so nervous!” he says, rolling his eyes.

 

“I think I'm entitled to be nervous, dude,” Scott says, “You just broke into my room as I was undressing with a huge-ass knife in the middle of the night. Actually, it would be pretty weird if that _didn't_ make me nervous.”

 

“Then clearly you have been hanging around with the wrong type of people.” He grins all over his face and just when Scott thinks that this situation is getting better, because this guy seems kind of awesome, his mom storms into the room with her staff in her hands. He sees her register his half-dressed state, the knife into the hand of a stranger in her son's room before he has to throw himself in front of the thief to keep his mom from murdering him. It would be a shame after all. He's kind of cute when he smiles.

 

* * *

 

“What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, lady.” Stiles shouts. (Derek would have said it's a screech, but what does Derek know anyway). He's nursing a pretty bad bruise on his head, from where the staff clipped him, as well as rubbing his ass, because he hit the ground hard, trying to get out of the way.

 

“What is wrong with _me_?!” the crazy woman asks incredulously, “You are the person in the room of my half-dressed son, holding him at knife point. Also, language, young man.”

 

She has thankfully put her staff down, to better take care of her son - _Aha! Not her younger lover, good-_ a small part of his brain notes. Stiles tells his brain to shut up, because this is not the time.

 

He turns to her son, who did a truly epic nose dive and is now submitting to the inspection of his mother. Her hands start lighting up with a soft amber glow, slowly enveloping her son. _A healer?_ Stiles raises his eyebrows. Healers have been a sought after commodity in Skyrim since the end of the dragon wars. A big reason the rebels had signed that peace agreement had been the serious lack of good healers on any side after all.

 

Stiles doesn't want to think too much about what it means that there is a healer in Jarl's inn. Because he has already decided that he's not going to steal from them and he doesn't want to have to change his mind.

 

“So what was that all about?” he asks, half to distract himself from that train of thought and half because he truly wants to know. “Was that belated terror or are you just _that_ high-strung.”

 

The guy stares balefully at him under his fringe of hair, “I was trying to protect you from the staff, ok? I just forgot about my pants.” he says gesturing to the piece of fabric now entangled with his – shapely, muscled – thighs. The sight of them nearly distracts Stiles from what he actually said, but he's after all always been good at multi-tasking ( _too good),_ so he manages to combine his ogling with utter confusion.

 

“Come again?” he asks, because he must have misheard.

 

The guy sighs a bit. “I didn't want you to be hit, so I tried to get in front of my mom, which didn't work, obviously.” he says, laughing self deprecatingly under his breath, as if what is wrong with this scenario is that he _failed_ to protect Stiles.

 

“You do know that I'm a thief? And that I was in the middle of thieving you? And I had a knife, while you had nothing? And while this was an interruption of that thieving there is no guarantee that I wont go on with it, once crazy staff-lady is out of the room?” he asks, just to be sure, because _what_?

 

“Yeah, I know,” he says with a shrug, “but you don't seem like such a bad guy. At least not bad enough that you deserved to be hit in the head with a huge wooden stick.”

 

Stiles moves his mouth soundlessly, which he has been told makes him look like a particularly stupid horker, but he can't help himself. “Are you serious?” he blurts out, because he just can't tell. No one is that nice, not if he can't get something out of it.

 

“No, I'm Scott.” he says and suddenly breaks out in a wide grin. Stiles can't help himself. He cracks up.

 

* * *

 

Scott waits out the loud laughter and grins wider with delight. He can _feel_ his mom rolling her eyes and sending him the look that means “you are ridiculous and also no you can't take him home”, which is just unfair. He knows that the thief isn't a lost puppy, but there is still something endearing about him, especially right now, when he's sprawled on the ground, snickers still racking his frame.

 

He uses the time to _finally_ get his trousers back on, so at least there is that. “Can I get your name?” he asks, because he isn't sure. He isn't exactly well travelled, as far as he knows there could be a sect of people superstitious about giving out their names.

 

“You can call me Stiles,” he says, finally calming down. Scott does notice that even though he still smiles genially at him, Stiles has a gleam in his eyes, a tension to his muscles from the moment Scott started moving closer to him. Which is interesting, but mostly kind of depressing? He wants the loose, amused Stiles back. Even just a few seconds of him have made it clear to Scott that this is what Stiles should always be, not this suspicious, wary person.

 

So he holds up his hands in what he thinks is an universal gesture of “I'm unarmed and also coming in good faith” which for some absurd reason is making Stiles tense up more. _What?_ Scott thinks, dropping his hands again, at a loss.

 

He's not exactly good at all this interpersonal stuff, because he hasn't had a lot of practice at it, so he doesn't know how to approach Stiles in a way that would put him at ease. He didn't think he looked that frightful, but maybe he does now? He still hasn't got used to it, the fact that for all intents and purposes he _is_ dangerous now, not after a lifetime of being the weakest, smallest kid on the playground.

 

Suddenly there is a snort behind him, which alerts him to the fact that he and Stiles have been kind of staring at each other in silence for a while now. “Great. Now that the introductions are done, how about getting the hell out of our room, before I call the city guard on you, _Stiles?”_ his mom says, casually leaning on her staff. He sees Stiles visibly gulping, which fair, his mom can be pretty scary if she wants to. If Scott didn't know she was bluffing about calling the guards, he really wouldn't be able to tell.

 

Stiles is getting up, holding his hands in an imitation of Scott's earlier gesture – and he still doesn't know if that means it has the same meaning in Skyrim and Stiles is just weird or if Stiles is copying him, cultural differences _suck_. “Now, now Ma'am, no need to be so serious, it was all just in good fun. I'm going to pick up my knife and am going to be out of your hair in a quick second.”

 

Stiles' face is kind of fascinating, because he looks like he really means it, a mix of good-natured cheer and mischievous humour. If not for the knife still in clear view on the floor and his suspicious clothing he'd look like the local prankster – a bit annoying but mostly harmless.

 

Stiles bends down in a deep bow that he also uses to pick up his knife. He straightens up and says “Well, so lo-”

 

“Wait a minute!” Scott interrupts. He moves towards Stiles, determined not to be hurt by the fact that he tenses up again, fingers tightening on his knife for a quarter of a second. _It's nothing personal_ , Scott thinks to himself, _he's probably just careful, it doesn't mean that you are a danger to society, that people everywhere are going to be afraid of you for the rest of your life_.

 

“What?” Stiles asks, clearly going for nonchalant, but his instinctual bodily responses already betrayed his tension. Scott doesn't know if he'd have noticed it before the incident, probably not. Stiles seems like someone who normally lies with his whole body without anyone the wiser.

 

For what is maybe the first time since he used his new capabilities to get his mom out of the city with him he's thankful for his change. The old Scott as he's started calling him would have just bundled into this situation without any idea that Stiles is clearly uncomfortable with Scott this close.

 

The knowledge allows him to gentle his smile, to raise his hands again – even if it doesn't have the same meaning here, clearly Stiles just demonstrated that he knows what it's supposed to signify – and says, “Hey, sorry, I don't want to scare you, I just want to make sure you are okay?” and to show what he means, he lets a bit of magic flow into his palms lighting them in the soft amber sparkles of healing magic.

 

* * *

 

 _What the hell_ , Stiles thinks. He's so stunned he lets the healing magic envelope his head, soothing his bruise, before he gets his bearings back and leaps backwards, instinctively assuming a ready stance, slightly crouched his dwarven dagger held in front of him, while his other hand is just touching the hilt of the hidden knife in his pocket.

 

While Scott's mother reacts rightly to his clearly combative stance, moving her staff in front of her, with just a hint of a slightly red-orange tint around the head of it. _A healer_ and _a combat mage? Scary._ Is the part of his brain thinking that is not boggling at Scott.

 

Who is still standing in the middle of the room, hands raised, amber glow slightly enveloping his hands looking _hurt_  of all things. It makes Stiles feel extremely stupid for letting his wariness get the better of him, for the first time in _years_. This whole situation must be rattling him more than he thought.

 

 _Stupid,_ he thinks, slowly straightening up mind racing _not only have you shown yourself to be a real threat instead of a loveable idiot, they must have noticed that this jump was much higher than you should be able to jump._

 

He's trying to come up with a way to do damage control – not only of his image but also of the simply _heartbreaking_ expression on Scott's face, but then his stupid mouth takes over.

 

“I'm sorry. I'm – wow that was rude, I mean, you were clearly just trying to help and look at that my head feels better already. So, you know, thanks for that. Also sorry for, you know, jumping away from you like you have the plague, just uh healing magic in my face without preparation is a bit -” Oh god, he's babbling, this is horrifying, the last time he wasn't able to control his mouth, he had just accidentally trashed half of Lydia's lab.

 

“Anyway, yeah sorry for overreacting, is what I mean” he says reigning himself in, because he didn't just make a fool of himself, he has also given away way too much information. _At least scary mama-bear has lowered her staff again, so score one for uncontrollable, nervous impulses?_

 

“I should-” he jerks his hand at the window he entered.

 

“No! Wait, I'm sorry!” Scott says, which startles Stiles so much that he jerks his hand back forcefully. Only he still has his dagger in it and hits himself in the stomach with it, activating the force magic stored in it, which feels like a particularly vicious punch.

 

He finds himself on the floor again, wheezing, with Scott on his knees in front of him, fluttering his hands in the air, his mother slightly behind him looking for the first time something else than confrontational.

 

“Oh my god, are you okay?!” he cries, “What happened, did you cut yourself?”

 

His hands start glowing again, seemingly on instinct, and off-kilter as he is, Stiles can't help his tiny flinch. He's extremely glad he's not with Laura or god forbid Erica. He knows better than to let his feelings show this clearly, but at least anybody not a werewolf should not be able to pick up on his slight bodily responses.

 

Something must have shown anyway or Scott just has freaky psychic powers, because the glow gutters out.

 

“Stiles, I know, you said no healing magic, but whatever this was it really knocked you out.” Scott is biting his lip and looking at him with huge worried eyes, anyway.

 

“Dwarven dagger,” he wheezes out, “Force enchantment.” then he concentrates on getting his breath back, because this was getting ridiculous. If Derek ever found out he'd never live it down.

 

“Huh, that's quite a rare artefact you have there, “ Scott's mom says looking up from the dagger lying innocently next to Stiles, “those things are supposed to be extremely hard to get and hideously expensive on top of it. I do wonder where you got it,” she says sardonically.

 

“Good eyes, lady,” Stiles says, “Let's just say I have an eye for quality and a knack for acquiring rare and hard to find merchandise. You wouldn't _believe_ the type of valuable artefacts that are just lying around, for anyone to take.” He waggles his eyebrows dramatically as he says it. In truth he got that dagger from his father when he was fifteen, but what people didn't know, didn't hurt his reputation.

 

She snorts. “Name's Melissa.” she says, getting up. “And it is _much_ too late for all of this and I'm not spending my first night in an inn with an actual bed watching you stare at each other.”

 

She picks up her staff, and points at him, “You, young man are going to still be here tomorrow and then we are going to have an in-depth conversation about why you shouldn't just break into other people's rooms.”

 

While Stiles gapes at her, she turns to Scott, “And you, stop looking so tragic, so you can't use Restoration on him. Didn't I teach you better than to rely on magic alone?! All the necessary ingredients are in my pack.” Which for some reason, makes Scott break out in his biggest smile yet,

“You're the best, mom!” he exclaims, gives her a big kiss, and runs out of the room, yelling over his shoulder, “Don't go anywhere, Stiles!”

 

“So, I'm totally lost here.” he says, because he has already embarrassed himself today, why not go for the full package and admit that he doesn't have a clue was has been going on since he climbed into this inn room.

 

“First you attack me on sight and now you are leaving me alone with your son in the middle of the night? And invite me to breakfast?”

 

“Trust me, this isn't my first choice. If it were up to me, you'd be out on your ass, with a picture of you posted all across this city.” she says matter of factly. “But I do know my son. And he has already decided that he likes you. So he wouldn't let me do that.”

 

“Which doesn't make any sense, by the way.” Stiles feels compelled to point out. “You raised him, so how come only you have demonstrated good judgement until now? Are you sure he should be alone with me? Or anyone for that matter? I mean, he's an exploitation waiting to happen.” Not by Stiles, he wants to add, because he does try to pick his victims out of the big pool of rich and slimy, which Scott clearly doesn't belong to, but Melissa's hard look stops the words in his throat.

 

“That's right, Scott is a very nice boy. So you are going to stay right there. You are going to wait for him to come back and you are going to let him take care of those bruises you got. You are going to stay here tonight so he can be sure nothing happened to you.” She isn't a tall woman, but Stiles is still on the floor and the dark purple glow that comes from her staff throws her face into a disconcerting light.

 

“I'm not saying you have to be nice to him, but if there is one hair on his head harmed when I see him tomorrow, you will not like what I do to you. Am I being clear?” Stiles gulps and just nods his head, because if associating with Jennifer has taught him anything it's that you do not back-talk a powerful, pissed off mage, no matter how benign they seem at first glance.

 

“Good.” Melissa says, and just like that she's back to looking like just your average over-protective mom. Which is when Scott comes back, carrying a medicine bag in his hand.

 

“Night, Scott.” Melissa says to him and with one last hard glance at Stiles, she closes the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

Stiles looks kind of shell-shocked when Scott comes back.

 

“What's up?” he asks, settling in front of Stiles. He has never been shy about just asking when he didn't understand something. In his experience it's always much better to just come out and be direct. Maybe it doesn't always yield the most useful or true answers, but it will get some response, and if he's learned anything it's that it's always good to distract people when they are hurt.

 

“Nothing much.” Stiles says, which just proves Scott's point about the truthfulness of the answers direct asking gets. “Your mother is one fierce lady.” he says apropos of nothing.

 

“My mom is awesome.” Scott says smiling, because she _is_. For some obscure reason this seems to make Stiles sad. _Why?_ Scott has time to think and then he can watch how for just a second Stiles' face crumples as if he's about to cry, after which he catches the expression instantly, transforming it into an overly exaggerated inquisitive look at the medicine bag Scott is unpacking.

 

If preparing his utensils wasn't so ingrained into his muscle memory after countless hours of doing nothing but packing and unpacking the bag in one house-visit with his mom after another, he would have faltered at that.

 

“What's all that, anyway?” he asks, eyes big. He looks curious, though not too interested. It's a perfectly attentive look, inviting Scott to explain, without seeming nosy. And he just pulled it over his face, as if changing shirts. Gone is the sad boy, the mischievous trickster, the deadly thief. Scott is starting to get whiplash.

 

Stiles is confusing. He doesn't seem to know how to show an honest emotion and yet he manages to wear each of his different moods perfectly, nearly without a crack in the mask.

 

Which is probably why instead of explaining about the different tools and salves of the healing trade he's spreading over the inn floor Scott blurts out: “Isn't it exhausting being all those different people?”

 

And then he kind of wants to slap himself, because Stiles looks gutted for long enough that he would have seen it, even before he had his enhanced senses to help him identify the skip in Stiles' heartbeat, the dilation of his pupils.

 

 _I'm a jerk,_ Scott thinks. “I'm a jerk.” he says, because never let it be said that he can't be direct about himself too. “I'm so sorry, it's none of my business, I didn't mean -, please don't - “ he's floundering. He never knows what to do when he hurts someone. It's been happening with increasing frequency, too. This is the second time this hour alone he freaked Stiles out by being insensitive.

 

 _This isn't about me_ , he thinks, _get a grip._ “I'm sorry Stiles,” he looks down. Just because he knows it's not about his pain, doesn't mean he has to torture himself with confronting the look on Stiles' face. He can at least justify this bit of cowardice by the fact that from what little he knows of Stiles, he'll probably appreciate the chance to pull himself together.

 

“I shouldn't have said that. And also I'm sorry for before. I know better than just to heal someone with magic before asking,” and he really _does_ , it was one of the first lessons his mom had taught him. Never assume you can just approach someone with your magic visible, no matter how helpful your intentions. And it's not like the other kids in the village hadn't made him pay for trying anyway.

 

But something about Stiles _hurt_ had just fried his higher reasoning, shown by the way he still has to fight back his magic that is trying to come out, to reach Stiles and just make him _better_ , to take his pain away, even if it's just the physical.

 

“Hey, hey, Scott, don't do this to me” Stiles says, sounding slightly panicked, which makes him look up, “Oh thank the Nines, I thought you started crying. I can't deal with tears, I'm terrible with them especially not from someone who looks like you.” he says with a smile

 

“What?” Scott asks confused.

 

“I mean, “ Stiles hesitates slightly, before continuing smoothly, “making you cry would have been like kicking a puppy. I could never forgive myself.” Scott wants to think for a moment about what that pause may have meant – if he hasn't imagined it – but consciously making himself stop. Clearly, trying to decipher Stiles' deeper motives only ends in social disaster.

 

“So I'm forgiven?” he asks, hoping he hasn't destroyed any hope of getting Stiles as a friend. Because they may have just met, but there is something about Stiles. Scott just has this feeling that if they get the chance they could get along great.

 

“Nothing to forgive,.” Stiles says, grinning all over his face, “not your fault my issues have fucked me up and you got a good instincts, so don't worry about it.”

 

“Not wanting to be approached by a stranger with magic is not unusual” Scott can't help saying, “and doesn't make you fucked up.”

 

“Maybe,” Stiles looks away, seeming flustered, so Scott decides to drop the topic.

 

“Anyway what I have here is just your standard medi-kit.” he says answering the earlier question.

 

“Why do you even have something like that?” Stiles asks, “don't you both have crazy healing powers?” He flails his arms around, which Scott guesses is supposed to emulate magic, but actually makes him look a bit like a flapping bird. He suppresses a grin.

 

“Well, nobody starts out being good at that, but people still need help. And then there are some people like you, who just don't trust other people to use magic on them. So mom made sure that I know all the traditional, non-magical healing ways too.” he explains.

 

“So your mom taught you, huh?” Stiles asks sounding a bit wistful. “That's cool. That she did that, I mean. Probably made your dad super jealous that you two are so close.”

 

Scott can actually feel himself tensing up, but contrary to Stiles he can't keep his reaction to just a second. He doesn't know if all what he's feeling shows on his face, the complicated tangle of hurt-fear-betrayal mixed with the aching question of _why wasn't I good enough._ It must be enough, because Stiles' eyes widen.

 

“By the Nines, I put my foot in my mouth there, didn't I?” Without waiting for a response, he continues, “No mentioning the D-word, got it!” he says, complete with locking-his-mouth motions.

 

It allows Scott to relax his tense muscles. “Thanks, but it's okay. It's just a bit of sore subject.” He goes back to mechanically assembling the last bits of the materials he's probably going to need, letting the familiar motions soothe his emotions. Stiles is silent throughout, though he can see him trying not fidget too much out of the corner of his eye.

 

It puts a smile on his face. That little nervous gesture as well as what it means that Stiles is trying so hard for him, a virtual stranger. He takes a deep breath and lets it out again.

 

“Okay, sorry for getting weird on you there. Now take off your shirt.”

 

* * *

 

Stiles is still trying to talk himself out of hugging Scott, because anybody who looks that hangdog deserves a hug in Stiles' opinion. He actually has it on good authority that he is a _great_ hugger, but he still thinks Scott would probably not appreciate it from a near stranger. So he nearly doesn't register the command. Until he does.

 

Thoughts of taking off his shirt and hugging the still topless Scott lead nowhere good. He can actually feel the blood rushing to his head. He has been really good about not staring (too much) at Scott's chest. He wishes for a second that Erica was here so someone would admire his restraint in the face of temptation. Then he reminds himself that Erica is a horrible person, who would probably laugh at Stiles a lot for being so distracted by a guy he just met.

 

Scott laughs. Stiles thinks for a second it means he's getting made fun of. “I'm going to be totally professional, believe me it's going to be nothing I haven't seen before.” His tone is light, teasing and somehow warm. Stiles feels stupid for even worrying, because Scott is clearly just too good a person to ever be malicious enough to actually laugh at someone _._

 

“I kind of feel like I should be insulted by that.” Stiles jokes, using humour to distract himself from the fact that he's actually stripping out of his tunic, “How dare you imply that I'm just another warm body to you? You don't want me to feel cheap, do you?”

 

“Oh, of course, how could I have been so callous.” He's trying to stay serious but just failing badly at it, “now that I see it the magnificence of your form clearly has no equal.” he says, obviously eyeing his torso. It's supposed to just be a tease, but it gives Stiles a little thrill anyway. He viciously squashes the stupid impulse to show off a bit.

 

“Just so.” he says instead, sniffing in mock outrage.

 

Scott laughs, picking up a little tube that seems to have some kind of salve in it. And even though Stiles is staying still, stripped of his clothes and defences of his own free will, he asks “May I?”

 

Stiles can only nod dumbly and then calm down his heart which just skipped a beat. Thank god he can blame the goosebumps on his skin on the cold draft from the window. And that butterflies can't be detected, not even with magic.

 

 _Erica would laugh forever and she'd be right, I'm such a sappy idiot._ But he can't help himself. He keeps up a light chatter, but his mouth is moving on auto-pilot. He's trying not to focus on Scott's soft, careful hands on his skin. How he is not just politely ignoring his scars, but _actually_ doesn't seem to be in the least bit bothered by them. Stiles can tell, because Scott is clearly a horrible liar.

 

Honest to a fault, gentle, good-looking, funny and apparently the _nicest_ person to ever exist. Stiles really would like to pinch himself, because he is not at all sure this isn't just a fever-dream, induced by the magical mystery booze from Lydia's workshop.

 

Scott finishes up taping his stomach, which puts his head _really_ close to Stiles. Thank the _Nines_ , Scott can't possible hear his heart beating. And that the folds of his trousers hide any kind of sin.

 

“Okay, all done. You should be good.” Scott finally says, actually clapping his hands in satisfaction.

 

“Where have you been all my life?” he can't help saying under his breath. He must have speaking more loudly than he realised, because Scott laughs. “I'm actually not that good a healer, my mom is way better.” Thank Talos for the oblivious.

 

“So, what do I owe you for that service.” Stiles asks, just to get back on level ground, to be able to do something that he understands.

 

Scott looks at him as if he has two heads, “Nothing, of course. It's my fault about your stomach anyway, coming at you like that.”

 

“No way, that was my crazy - ” Scott makes a face at that. God he's so weird, what does he care if Stiles shittalks himself _It's the truth anyway,_ “rearing it's ugly head, nothing to feel bad about.”

 

“Well,” Scott says, “We're friends. And friends don't make each other pay for helping.”

 

There is absolute silence for a second. Stiles doesn't experience absolute silence very often, with his brain either running off on a hundred different tangents or concentrating on one thing obsessively. He's crap at meditating, _emptying the mind_. So it's really adding insult to injury that he can't appreciate this rare occurrence, because he's just stunned.

 

Scott blushes fiercely. “Oh God, I'm sorry, that was – , you don't even know me, of course you don't -”

 

“Yeah, “ Stiles interrupts. “We're friends.” He doesn't know what's going on that he's just blurting out what he's thinking. But a warmth is spreading through his whole body. Scott's smile is so radiant he puts every other bright thing to shame. So maybe in this instance being honest was actually worth it.

 

“So, seeing as we are now newly minted best buddies, tell me what two nice healers such as yourselves are doing in an establishment of a scum bag like Siddgeir “ he asks because he really wants to get out of this mushy emotional terrain they found themselves and because he _is_ curious.

 

“Uh, we are renting a room?” Scott says, raising an eyebrow. Stiles lets out a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding since the first moment he looked into the other one' eyes. So he doesn't have any idea where he is, or better, who he's staying with.“Why, is there something wrong with here? And why scum bag?” Right, it was time to do some damage control here.

 

“Buddy, you are so lucky that you met me. Let me tell you aaaaalll about Jarl Siddgeir starting with his unfortunate predilection to “lose” foreigners documentation just to get them to buy it back at a pretty high asking price.” he says, slinging his arm over Scott's shoulders and enjoying the horrified on his face. He never said he was a good person after all.

 

* * *

 

When Scott sees his mother the next morning the first thing he says is: “We need to get out of here _right now_.”

 

He must look pretty frightening, because his mom throws a rather dark look at Stiles before touching his forehead lightly and asking, “Surely, whatever it is, we'll have time for breakfast?”

 

He looks back at Stiles because he really doesn't know. They'd stayed up nearly until the sunrise, first so that Stiles could tell him every horror story he knows about their inn keeper and afterwards talking about Skyrim in general, so Scott could calm down, because at the point he had been jumping at shadows and half convinced that they would actually be better off sleeping in the woods after all.

 

“Breakfast will be fine, don't worry, I'll make sure he doesn't rip you off.” Stiles says easily, a small amused look on his face.

 

“Thank you, Stiles.” he says with a relieved smile. Now that he's thinking about it, he's actually pretty hungry, but before he can go into the dining room, his mother grabs his arm.

 

“Oh and since when does _Stiles_ gets to decide this?” she asks archly.

 

He leans closer to answer in a whisper “You wouldn't believe what this Siddgeir guy who owns this inn has been doing we really will be better off, if we get out of here soon. But if Stiles says breakfast is okay, then I'm sure it is.” he says straightening up and throwing a smile at him over his mom's shoulder. “We're really lucky to have met him.”

 

He thinks he can see a startled look on Stiles' face, but maybe he's imagining it, because at that moment his mom uses the grip she still has on his arm to manhandle him back into her room, saying “If you'll excuse us for a moment, _Stiles”_

 

“Do you always have to say that in that tone of voice?” Scott asks annoyed over Stiles' “Yeah, sure take your time.”

 

His mother slams the door in Stiles' face and rounds on Scott. “Yes, I do, Scott, since clearly I'm the only one who remembers here that we met that boy last night for the first time, when he was _trying to rob you_.”

 

“But that was only because he didn't know us! He explained it to me, that the people staying here are normally corrupt and also we were in a room which is apparently marked as feel free to steal, so he really didn't know that it wouldn't be some rich people.” Scott argues. _And he's not a boy_ , he adds silently, but he doesn't think that talking about Stiles' clearly very well developed muscles is going to go far with his mom.

 

“Scott, he still doesn't know us. And what's more, we know nothing about _him_. Aside from the fact that he's not just a thief, but apparently a _career_ thief.” she sighs, “What makes you so sure you can trust him?”. Because his mom really does know him that well, and she can tell that Scott already does.

 

“I don't know, mom, but I do. When he told me about this Siddgeir guy, it wasn't only to scare me, he really wanted to make sure that we wouldn't be involved into something shady.” he gently disengaged his arm, “I really don't think Stiles is a bad guy.”

 

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that you think he's cute, does it?” she asks.

 

“Mom!”, Scott blushes, he really doesn't understand, how she always just _knows_.

 

She scrutinizes him and he looks back at her as earnestly as possibly.

 

“All right,” she finally sighs, “What do you propose we do then? Siddgeir was the only name we knew, and we do need to get some idea of where we can go.”

 

Scott perks up, “Actually that's what we wanted to tell you, Stiles already has a really great idea!”

 

“Does he now?” she asks, looking resigned to her fate, which Scott is determined to ignore. She'll figure out how great Stiles is once she gives him a chance, he's sure of it.

 

“He knows some people a bit farther north in a place called Whiterun. I didn't know, but he told me that apparently healers are pretty sought after here, so we shouldn't have a problem establishing ourselves with his contacts.” he says.

 

“You are really prepared to trust him that much, to depend on his good will?” she asks him one more time.

 

“Yes, I really am.” he repeats. “I'm sure you'll think so too, especially now that we'll spend so much time together.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Well, Stiles says that we'll have to travel on foot, since neither of us has horses and it takes around a month? Give or take.” he answers, smiling widely to off-set his mom's sour look.

 

“Great. Just great,” she sighs, “Then I definitely need a good breakfast.” She pulls her shoulders back, bracing herself before she opens the door. It gives them a good look at Stiles, who seems to have spent his sudden free time breaking into the room across from them.

 

She sends him a disbelieving glance, looks over at Scott as if to ask _Really?_ The matching grins Scott and Stiles give her, probably don't help their case, but Scott just can't help himself. Stiles is _awesome_.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some gore at the end of the chapter.

“Normally the trip takes a week, two tops, but the recent floods have basically made half the roads impassable.”Stiles had said though he did neglect to mention that it would be done mainly on backroads and through the woods. In some ways Scott had hoped that the days of sleeping on forest floors were over, but apparently not.

 

“It's just safer that way,” Stiles explains again, “there is just no telling how people will react to two Bosmer-healers. You two aren't exactly inconspicuous.” It's true that most of the Nords they had encountered on their shopping trips into the towns had whispered behind their hands about their darker colouring and the healers bag both of them carried. “Best case scenario, they'll think you are on Imperial business and will just be horribly unfriendly. Worst case, we are looking at kidnapping, extortion, anything to get you to help the local gangs and not get used by anyone else.”

 

“We have you with us though,” he says, “shouldn't that be enough to not be bothered? You come from here after all.”

 

Stiles snorted, “Do I _look_ like a stereotypical Nord?”

 

“Not really.” Scott admits. The Nords he has seen have mostly been stocky and pale, with Stiles' lankier build standing out.

 

“Exactly. If I was going around with other Nords, people wouldn't look twice, but with you two in tow? We basically scream 'Please exploit the hapless tourists','” he bites into his bread.

 

“Stiles is right, Scott,” and wow who would have thought 2 weeks ago that his mom would ever say something like that, “Now stop whining, it's like you have never had to sleep on hard ground before.”

 

Stiles laughs, “Yeah what's even up with the pampered princess act, I can't really believe that Melissa would have spoiled you that much growing up.”

 

And Scott can't really say anything to that. Because it's not actually the hard ground, or the insects or the occasional rain that bothers him about sleeping outside. He actually used to love being outside, would sleep in the garden whenever his mom let him and his constitution allowed. It's just with his new instincts it's _hard_. He hears every animal in the under bush and the different smells make him twitchy.

 

Every night he has to deal with all new sounds and smells, as well as a permanent feeling of danger. He knows it's irrational, seeing as even being inside a house would not be any protection from someone determined, Stiles being proof of that, but it doesn't matter. His completely human understanding of equating 4 walls with safety combined with his new animalistic need to not have his family - his pack - be exposed to danger is making sleeping outdoors an exercise in frustration.

 

By Stiles' look, he's still waiting for an answer. He's been interested in everything of Scott's life he's been willing to share, but this is a conversation Scott just doesn't know how to have. How do you tell someone you can turn into a furred killing machine, while making sure they aren't afraid of you? Especially because Scott actually isn't all that sure he _can_ control himself. He can still _taste_ the blood – he shakes his head to dispel the thought before it can fully form.

 

His mom must have guessed the direction of his thoughts, because she says, “There will be no disparaging of my child-rearing skills. Scott was just sick a lot as a kid, so I tried to instil the fear of the gods in him when it comes to outdoor camping.”

 

She has gotten really good at covering up for Scott, he observes with a small pang. He never wanted her to have to lie for him, but he's also grateful.

 

Stiles seems suspicious for only a second, till he smiles wide. “So little Scott was a bit of a rascal? Wanted to go out, even when he sniffled? Oh Melissa, I feel you haven't even gotten to a third of all the embarrassing tiny Scott stories I want to hear.”

 

While his mom laughingly scolds him, Scott can't help but feel uneasy. He may not know Stiles for long, but he knows that was his “I'm not buying your bullshit, but I'm willing to let it slide for now”- smile. Which means he knows something is up. And he will probably not wait forever until he corners Scott alone, without his mom to bail him out. Scott already knows that if Stiles asks him point blank he wont be able to lie, seeing as he's awful at that.

 

_Couldn't one of my werewolf powers include lying skills?_ he asks himself not for the first time. At least then they would be somewhat useful for his day-to-day life. Instead the only thing they are good for, is telling him that a pack of deer had been through here about a day before them. He sighs heavily earning himself another searching look from Stiles, even while he seems to be paying total attention to his mom's story.

 

He gives him a smile he hopes is reassuring enough. He'll cross that bridge when he gets to it. He just hopes that Stiles wont hate him. Even though they have only known each other for such a short time, Stiles has rapidly become his favourite person aside from his mom. Scott has never had a best friend and he has no siblings; he thinks maybe this would be like that.

 

_Well aside from the fact that I probably wouldn't be checking out my brother's ass,_ he thinks, doing exactly that before snuggling into his bedroll.

 

* * *

 

Stiles doesn't know what he's supposed to think about Scott. For two weeks now he's been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Nobody is that nice, that decent, that _perfect_. Not only that, it's been clear since day one that Scott is Hiding Something. Capital letters and all. He's actually not quite sure how he has managed to keep whatever it is a secret, since Scott is the worst liar in existence. He might actually be worse than Derek, though Stiles will have to try in a direct comparison one of these days.

 

The thought of seeing Scott amongst his friends is giving him a warm glow. For the first few days he expected either Melissa or Scott (though his money would have been on Melissa), to come to their senses and change their minds about going with him. They were kind of crazy trusting not only a perfect stranger, but their burglar from yesteryear so much.

 

Stiles could be who knows who! He could be part of one of those gangs trying to round up healers all over Skyrim he's been warning them about! He could be a slave trader! He could be biding his time to kill them in more and more creative ways. Of course he's not, he really is going to get both of them to Whiterun and introduce them to Jennifer, which will be a legitimate contact and will provide them with the right connections to get them set up as healers.

 

But they can't know that! He's been trying to impart this very pertinent fact into Scott's head (because he's not fooling himself, if it had been up to Melissa, they would have left him in Falkreath, probably with one of the peacekeepers, or worse, chained to a bed so that they would find him later. Though she has been warming up to him), but every time he tries, Scott just laughs his stupid, charming laughs and says something along the lines of “You'd never do that, Stiles.”

 

For some reason Scott has this idea in his head that Stiles is a Good Guy. And nothing Stiles has done since the moment they met, has been able to disabuse him of that notion. Even when they met that huge bruiser from the assassins' guild, Scott had only said, “How nice of him to say hello.” Both Melissa and Stiles had given Scott equally dubious looks.

 

_That's probably the reason I've bonded with her. Our continuing exasperation with Scott's disposition_ , he thinks to himself. He turns over once again, and settles back down, trying to get at least moderately comfortable in his bedroll. He's kind of glad for the uncomfortable ground, because at least he wont fall asleep too easily while pondering the mystery of Scott McCall once again.

 

_So Stilinski, start from the beginning, what do you know?_

 

He knows that two cute elves like the McCalls wouldn't just go across the border for a random adventure. They may be savvy enough to make it as far as they had, but they had been so obviously unprepared. And the few minutes he had managed to corner Scott without Melissa around, he had let it slip that they left in less-than-ideal circumstances.

 

_On the run from something, then, something bad enough that they had to leave fast and probably under the cover of night._

 

But what could they be running from? Scott's father would be a possibility, the one time he had brought him up, it was clear some bad shit had gone down there. He glances in Melissa's direction where she is curled up closest to the fire. He can't really imagine her running from anything, even a vengeful husband.

 

_Though what if that husband had been threatening Scott?_

 

She was clearly protective enough to do anything for Scott. Which Stiles understood absolutely. There was just something about Scott, something pure and untainted that while it exasperated Stiles to some extent, he just wants to  _protect_ him. He's known Scott for less than a month and he already feels the burning need to do anything for him, anything at all just so he can continue smiling.

 

It brings Stiles up short for a moment. He's normally only that intense about his dad, Lydia and Derek. While he cares for the other people in the Hale-pack, they can take care of themselves just fine.  _No, that's bullshit,_ he thinks. He needs to be honest with himself, if he can't be with anyone else. 

 

It has nothing to do with how well protected or capable they are. Lydia is one of the most accomplished Alchemists he ever met, Derek has one of the most ferocious instincts in his pack, and his dad is the fucking Head of the City Guard of Whiterun. It's about them being  _Stiles'._ He had them  _first,_ they are  _his people_ and he'd make sure nobody would ever even get close enough to hurt them.

 

_Aside from myself_ , he thinks ruefully, remembering his dad's worried smile when he said goodbye to him, fuck, 2 months ago.

 

And Scott has managed to get himself a place in that illustrious group in less time than it took Derek to get him to stop annoying Laura into attacking him. And it can't be just the way his body is ridiculous and those two dimples in his cheeks that Stiles just wants to  _bite_ . It's that, but it's also the way Scott  _is._ Stiles thinks he trusts much too easily, but he can't help but feel warm all over, when it's clear that Scott trusts  _him_ . Stiles has many people that depend on him, that trust  _in_ him, but he had to prove himself. He had to show the others in the guild what he was made of, he had to make the Hale-pack accept him, he had to earn Lydia's regard. 

 

He doesn't regret a moment of it, but there is just something about being taken on faith alone. Scott's simple acceptance is something he's never had since his mom died and he knows himself enough to realise he's grabbing it and the boy it comes attached to with both hands. And that it would probably kill him to let go now.

 

_Which is why_ , he thinks,  _I need to figure this out._ He's sure that it's nothing Scott has actually  _done_ – though even if he had been, being part of Stiles' people also comes with a hiding-the-body-and-evidence-service if it's required – but he still needs to know what it  _is._ If there is a chance of people trying to find them and maybe drag Scott back...

 

He calms the panic before it can rise. He's been taking the most circuitous route he could think of, one no sane person would think they would ever take if they were on the way to Whiterun. He knows the routes around here better than anyone, definitely better than anyone from outside Skyrim, so he's reasonably certain that even if they were followed, they have shaken their tail.

 

This is turning out to be as fruitless as all the other nights before. He always gets as far as  _on the run from someone, possibly the father_ , until he's stalling. Added to that is the fact that thinking too long on the subject of Scott, will bring his thoughts to  _Scott;_ laughing, pouting, running, irresistible Scott. Seeing as he can't exactly deal with any type of  _excitement_ that brings him, trying to solve the Scott-mystery leaves him frustrated in more ways than one.

 

He's just about to give up for the night, when he hears it. The slightest rustling of leaves on his right side. Just as he's thinking  _amateurs_ , they are surrounded by bandits. So he might be a bit unfair, seeing as they'd surrounded them without him noticing, but still that last bit of unprofessionalism gave him enough advance notice to palm his daedric d agger.

 

Scott and Melissa are awake as well and looking at their chances Stiles isn't feeling optimistic. They are outnumbered 3 to 1 and the bandits round them up and away from their luggage in short order.

 

“Hey, so what brings you to this little piece of prime real estate?” Stiles tries, using one of the gestures that should identify him to anyone in the know as part of the thieves guild. The only thing that earns him is a harsh slap him in the face by the Orc holding his arm, which at least puts him closer to the other two.

 

“ _Stiles!_ ” he hears Scott cry. When he looks up, one of the human women has him at spear-point, trying to prevent him from getting closer to Stiles. Scott – bless his naïve little soul – is glaring at her.

 

“Let me go to him, I just want to make sure he's alright.” he insists.

 

“ _Scott_ ”, Stiles hisses between his teeth, “lay off, I'm fine.” If they are lucky, they'll see that they don't have anything of worth and will be on their way. 

 

Scott looks over at him sort of helplessly, clenching his hands. Stiles has just enough time to wonder, if he's imagining the slight glow in Scott's eyes, when he hears a shout from the direction of their packs.

 

“Check out what I found!” shouts their leader, his head wrapped in a dirty cowl. “We managed to catch some Imperial trash.” He proceeds to throw a book at the other's feet.

 

Stiles silently curses. He had tried to convince both Scott and Melissa that they would need to get rid of anything that would identify them as anything besides travellers from High Rock. There may be a peace agreement between Skyrim and the Imperials, but tensions were still running high.

 

They had thrown out or sold anything that looked too Imperial – aside from that book. According to Melissa it was something to do with healing and she refused to part with it. It's also very clearly Imperial-made from the material, to the language used.

 

“So what do Imperial dogs do this far out from civilisation, “ the guy sneers.

 

“Now wait a minute,” Stiles says, trying to sound as relaxed as possible “We found that book and thought we could sell it. Nothing to do with being Imperial.”

 

“Oh yeh?”

 

“ _Yeh_ ,” Stiles mimics, “now as you clearly have seen, we have nothing of value, so how about you just piss off and no one gets hurt.”

 

The guy is in Stiles' face faster than he can process. He thought he'd be able to focus their attention on him and then he'd stab the nearest one with his dagger. In the confusion that would have resulted from someone dropping dead from just one stab, Melissa and Scott could have gotten away first.

 

Stiles is faster and more agile than the average human and he can even give Erica a run for her money sometimes, but looking at the bands leader, it's clear he's made a crucial mistake. They aren't dealing with humans or even elves. They are dealing with at least one  _Argonian_ . Fucking reptiles, what are they even doing here so far away from the Marshes? 

 

“Huh, since when have the _great_ Argonians lowered themselves to petty highway robbery?” he can't keep the sneer out of his voice, “How the mighty have fallen.”

 

The Argonian leans even closer and Stiles really can't help himself, smelling him from that close, the rank stench of water, swamp and something not quite like any animal he's ever met. He feels his eyes contract, the hiss he can't quite suppress.

 

The bandit leader, rears back in surprise and then lets out a roaring laugh.

 

“Well, well, well,” he says, “who would have thought we'd find anything like _you_ out here.” Stiles hopes against hope that he wont go into what exactly he means by that. The quick look he is able to sneak at the McCall's shows them looking worried (Scott) and angry (Melissa), but not disgusted.

 

For once his prayers are answered, because the reptilian only gets a better grip on Stiles, twisting his arms against his back. His next words send a chill through Stiles. “Let's go, he's going to fetch a very nice price on the next market where perverts buy their favourite freaks.”

 

This is where he remembers to  _struggle,_ panic overtaking his rational mind with its steady chant of  _as long as Scott is okay_ . This, he can't take it. After his mother died he had nightmares for  _months_ of slave traders who would come and drag him away to sell to the highest bidder that likes a bit of variety in their whore-houses.

 

“What- Where are you taking him, let Stiles _go_!” Scott shouts, now also struggling against the bandits holding him and his mother in place.

 

Stiles tries to rein his breathing in. Getting a panic attack now wont do anyone any good, less of all him. He needs to stay calm, so that for now they let Scott and Melissa go. He'll create an opening for himself later.

 

“This little cat, “ he shakes Stiles effortlessly, “is going to fetch us a good price at the next market. As for you two,” he says, looking them over, “I guess we can sell your flesh to the cannibals, at least.”

 

Stiles stops breathing. “ _No_ ”, he breathes out and he's just about to tell them every secret he has kept close to his chest, that his father is the Protector of Whiterun and they could ransom him and his identity, that Scott and Melissa are healers and far too valuable to kill, that with him they would have an inn to the elusive and seemingly untouchable Hale companions, anything to get Scott out of this mess alive.

 

But before he can, he suddenly notices that the glow that has been steadily growing in Scott's eyes is much too bright for it to be a mere reflection of moonlight.

 

Scott lets out a roar that shakes their little clearing. He's suddenly sprouting hair all over his body, hunching over and  _growing._ Before the bandits closest to him can get over their surprise, he has already ripped their arms out of their sockets. And then 150 kilo of enraged werewolf is smashes into the Argonian holding him.

 

Stiles immediately hits the ground. He doesn't need to keep watching, he knows how that fight will end. Werewolf versus just one Argonian? It's not even a contest.

 

_I guess that mystery is solved,_ he thinks.

 

* * *

 

Scott doesn't completely remember what happens when he's in the werewolf form. No, that's not quite right. He remembers perfectly, his beast memory so much clearer than his human one, supported as it is by all the smells and sounds and tastes of the world. He can still remember how the ground had tasted faintly of the lighting storm of the previous week, the first time he transformed.

 

It's just that the  _way_ he thinks and feels as a werewolf is so different than when he's human, that he can't really process it after the fact. So while he remembers doing his best to hold himself back, to not kill anyone, to just scare the bandits away, he knows that he only half succeeded. His human mercy was being overridden by the thrum of protective  _fury_ , that someone would  _dare_ try to take Stiles away from him. 

 

He can still hear, how Stiles' heart had hammered in his panic. His heartbeat was a bit faster than most people's at rest, so it had sounded like a frightened bird, like a small, breakable being and Scott had been packed by the irresistible need to  _shelter_ him, to take him away and soothe him.

 

But now the fury is receding, the easy animal logic being washed away by Scott's all too human  _terror._

 

_He knows_ , is the only thing he can keep thinking. Stiles has seen now what he is, is still seeing it, Scott being still so untrained, it's taken minutes for his fur to fully disappear. And his heart is still going uncomfortably fast and what if that isn't the remnant of the earlier panic, what if it's a  _new_ one, what if Stiles is afraid of  _Scott._

 

He has reason to. Most of the bandits fled, and he let them go, even though his wolf had _screamed_ at him, _fleeing prey, kill them before they attack again,_ but he had beaten it back with the thought of _pack right here, pack vulnerable, stay and protect,_ which he had learned early on was the best way to keep himself in control. If he concentrated on his mother, now on Stiles, he wouldn't get swept up in the blood lust tearing at him every minute he spent in wolf form.

 

But he wasn't able to extend that to the leader, the one who had been holding Stiles. The other bandits he managed to only injure, but the Argonian is a bloody mess on the forest floor next to Stiles. He's been – oh gods – he's been _eviscerated._

 

Scott turns sharply, trying not to see the carnage he left behind, which puts him closer to Stiles, who _flinches_.

 

Scott thought that he had prepared himself for this reaction, that he should start to get used to it, he thought he _had_. When that Cyrodill trader had found out on their way to Falkreath, he had nearly managed not to react to the fear on the man's face at all. But this. This is _Stiles_ . And it hurts just as bad as the first time someone looked at him and seen only a _monster._

 

Scott can feel the tears forming in his eyes, and this is _ridiculous_ , he just tore someone apart in a rage, he can feel the blood cooling on his arms, starting to itch. He still has coarse hair over his arms and back. He should check on his mother, wash away the blood, get them _out_ of here, before the bandits come back with reinforcements.

 

But the only thing he can seem to do is stand here like an _idiot_ and try not to cry, because the first real friend he has managed to make in _years_  is never going to speak to him again.

 

He can feel his breathing hitch while he thinks that, and then there is no way to stop the tears. He hunches in on himself, trying to hide, his face, the tears, the hair that proves that he's not human any more, that he never will be again, he doesn't even know.

 

He hears Stiles picking himself up from the ground and he tries not to listen too closely, because this is horrible enough, he doesn't need to remember the sound of Stiles leaving in his dreams (though he knows he will). He is so concentrated on not listening that the first touch on his arms makes him start horribly.

 

The hands are withdrawn immediately. Scott doesn't look up, doesn't move, doesn't believe. An agonizing second later, the hands are back, surer now. They encircle his back, awkward around his hunched form.

 

“It's okay, Scott, we are safe now, you don't have to cry.” Stiles voice is soft and breaks on the last word, as if he can't quite believe that it's the truth. Scott is frozen, simply frozen, because Stiles has seen him tear a person apart and here he still is, touching him, holding him in a half-hug, trying to _soothe_ him, of all the ridiculous things.

 

The squeak Stiles lets out when Scott uncurls from his ball suddenly to hug him back would make him chuckle at any other time. This time the only thing he does is burrow his face closer into Stiles neck, crying even harder when Stiles hands settle on him again, on his back, his hair, stroking his sides, making soothing nonsense noises, until the signs of his werewolf nature have all retreated.

 

Scott is shaking and now also horribly embarrassed, but he can't make himself move. Stiles is solid and surprisingly strong. Hugging him feels comfortable, and for the first time in what seem like years, Scott feels right in his skin.

 

But he can't stay hidden in the crook of Stiles' neck forever – though he wouldn't be opposed. Stiles smells _so good_  there – and after what seems to be an eternity, he manages to raise his head. Their faces are so close that their noses are nearly touching. Scott can feel Stiles' breath across his lips.

 

“Better?” Stiles asks in a quiet voice. It sounds like a secret shared and for once there is no joking undertone, just honest concern.

 

Scott huffs out a small laugh. He can't believe Stiles is worrying about _him_. Language hasn't quite returned to him, so he moves even closer, touching their foreheads together and attempting a reassuring smile.

 

He cups the cheek that is already starting to bruise slightly, trying to ask without words about Stiles. It's an intimate gesture, but for some reason it feels like it's allowed in that tiny shared space between them that is warm with their intermingling breath.

 

“I'm okay, it's nothing serious. It was just one little slap,” Scott can hear himself growl slightly and cuts himself off, horrified. Stiles on the other hand starts to look amused again “Honestly, I'm not made out of china, I promise I'll be fine.” His trademark smile is stretching across his face and Scott can feel the edges of it, where he is still touching the side of Stiles' face.

 

It makes something warm and hungry curl up in his stomach, feeling that wide mouth on his hand. He's so close to Stiles he can make out every blemish. His eyes look weirdly reflective in this light.

 

“Not to interrupt the touching moment, but I really think we should probably move sooner rather than later.” His mother's voice from behind him breaks the moment. It startles him so badly that he shoots up, gets tangled up in his own legs and promptly falls on his ass.

 

_So much for animal grace_ , he thinks. But he can't even pretend to be disgruntled, the sound of Stiles' loud laughter something he had thought he had lost forever.

 

* * *

 


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Khajiit](http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/Khajiit) are cat-people. They do look very non-human despite their two-legged gait. They are treated pretty horribly in the game world and have in most cases become gypsy outcasts, not allowed in the city and not able to hold a regular job.

Whiterun isn't quite like what Scott had expected, though to be honest he hadn't really let himself think about it too deeply. Bryma was known for being very Nordic in Cyrodiil, so Scott had just somehow assumed that it would be about the same as his home town – cold, utilitarian and full of stone. But while there wasn't anything as fancy as Scott had seen that one time his mother took him to the Imperial capital city, these grassy knolls and wooden houses just seem so much more welcoming and friendly than what he’s used to.

 

“Home sweet home!” Or maybe that was just the company, Scott thinks wryly. There's a noticeable spring in Stiles' step.

 

“When were you here last?” he asks.

 

“Oh, um, two months ago? I think?” he smiles wide, “I'm looking forward to introducing you to my dad. Though not as much as I'm looking forward to introducing you to _Derek_.” he gives Scott a considering look, “I still don't know if I should let Laura or Erica at you, today. They are going to eat you _alive_.”

 

Scott tries to smile back, but the nervousness cramping his stomach doesn't really let him. He has heard so much about Stiles' friends and his father in the three weeks their trip took them, that he nearly feels like he knows them already. After his secret had come out, the stories became even more, what with Stiles making an effort to cheer Scott up by regaling him with every awkward and embarrassing story that his other werewolf friends went through that he could think of.

 

It still brings Scott up short sometimes that Stiles is not only okay with him, but that he's going to introduce him to other people, people like _him_.

 

“Don't worry, everybody is bad at this at first. They'll help you out, help you figure everything out.” Stiles had said after they had gotten to relative safety. _I'll take care of you, you are not alone,_ is what Scott had heard.

 

“Hey, you okay?” Stiles asks, peering at his face, which makes Scott realise that he stopped in the middle of the street. “If you don't feel up to meeting anyone today, we can do this tomorrow.” Even though Stiles hadn't been able to talk about anything but seeing his dad and the others in the pack.

 

“I'm fine, just nervous, you know?” Because he may feel like he knew all of them already, but they didn't know _him_. He didn't actually have the best track record in finding friends and these were _Stiles'_ friends. If they didn't like him, would Stiles even still want to spend time with him?

 

“Why?” Stiles asks, looking truly clueless.

 

“What if they don't like me?” he can't help and ask.

 

To his consternation, Stiles suddenly starts laughing. “Hey, don't laugh at me!” he starts to walk away, towards where his mother is inspecting some stones at one of the stalls ringing the market place.

 

“No, sorry, don't be mad, just - “ Stiles grabs his arm, “How can you be worried about _that_?”

 

“They don't know me, what if your word isn't enough and they decide they don't need someone hanging around who doesn't know what he's doing? What if they don't like me?” _What if I'm not good enough?_ But it sounds like his father's voice so he doesn't say that.

 

Stiles looks truly surprised, but he's stopped laughing, thank goodness. “Hey” he says quietly, getting them a bit out of the foot traffic and using the hold he has on Scott's arm to turn him so that they are facing each other. “Hey, you don't have to worry about it, they are going to _love_ you. I know I've been talking up their scariness, but that's not how they are like at all. Here is what's going to happen, “ he uses his other arm to move them closer, holding Scott in something like a loose hug.

 

It always calms Scott down, to be that close, to be able to block out other sensory input and focus on _Stiles_. “Laura is going to take one look at you and then try to bundle you up and coddle you into next week. Jennifer will be so happy to have your mom around and also that she gets to lend out two healers to the whole city. It's good company and getting a leg up on the competition, the two things she loves the most.”

 

“Isaac is a bit shy, but he'll appreciate how disgustingly nice you are. Allison is going to just _love_  you, my teeth ache just thinking about how cute you two probably will look, talking about rainbows and justice or what the fuck ever.” Which doesn't really align with the picture he had of Allison before, she of the double-edged knives and deadly precise arrows, but oh well.

 

“Erica will try to get you into trouble or trip you into bed, but she's fierce and she'll be delighted to not be the youngest wolf in the pack any more, she'll be the first who wants to train with you.”

 

“And finally, because don't pretend you weren't most concerned with them, Lydia, Derek and my dad.” he sighs put-upon, but his smile is soft, the same way he always is when he talks about either of those three. _And he wonders why I worry,_ it's so obvious that Stiles loves them, fiercely, obsessively, like he does everything.

 

“Derek always tries to pretend to be so cool, but don't let that grumpy exterior fool you, he's a great softie dork. Just talk to him about your weird mutual hard-on of natural phenomenon or dated literature and you'll be fine.” Scott tries to interrupt to say that the Aurora's are fascinating and it's not weird to get excited at the idea of a whole new library, but Stiles' look shuts him up

 

“My perfect Lydia, will be won over by your rather worryingly complete knowledge of all plants and don't tell me again about why the differences in texture is so important for healing, please?” he goes on, when Scott tries to open his mouth. “It depresses me that you apparently spend your best teenage years memorizing leafy things instead of getting laid.”

 

“And my dad, will take one look at you and be happy that you'll have a good influence on me.”

 

Scott finally snorts, “As if I would ever be able to keep you from doing anything.”

 

“What my dad doesn't know wont hurt him! Stiles smirks, drawing back, breaking the intimate moment, “I hope you know that I will utilize your honest face to full effect. So much I will be able to get away with, having your sweet expression on my side.”

 

Stiles cackles and swirls around, leading the way again. Scott takes a deep breath, feeling so much better, the nervous tension in his stomach now only a slight flutter of anticipation. He can't help thinking though, that he will let Stiles use him in any way he wants, as long as it means he can stay with him.

 

* * *

 

The meeting with the pack goes about as Stiles had thought it would. While Laura tries to look stern, Stiles can see her basically melting the moment Scott haltingly tells them about how his dad made him transform and _fight_ even though anyone can tell looking at Scott that he's not made for that. Erica makes a soft sound of sympathy when he mentions accidentally hurting another boy, while training. Even Derek seems to soften when he tells them how his mother and him had to flee because of it.

 

Scott doesn't seem to notice that his combination of guileless charm, good-naturedness and sweet smile is already softening up any edges that are left after his frankly heartbreaking story that a lot of the wolves in the pack can relate to and looks as nervous as he had walking into the hall (though not as nervous as when they had stepped into the marketplace, thank god).

 

Laura and Derek finally decide to go outside to talk about Scott. Stiles can see that it's clearly bullshit and that they just need to keep up appearances. Just as Stiles is about to go over to Scott and explain this just so he can stop looking as if he'll vibrate out of his skin, Derek shoots him a look, while Laura says with a slight edge in her voice. “We would appreciate your input, Stiles.”

 

He is about to protest, but he can see that Scott has managed to somehow get into a chat with Allison, who seems charmed despite herself.

 

When the door closes behind him, Laura and Derek turn to him and raise their eyebrows in unison.

It used to be creepy, how in sync they are, but Stiles has gotten used to it.

 

“Don't even try your wonder-twin intimidation tactic, “ he groans, “I'm not some newbie, just tell me what's up. Cause I'm pretty sure it's obvious what a good fit Scott is.” Because it _is_ obvious. He doesn't care that the Hale siblings eyebrows climb even higher.

 

“What!?” he blurts out when the silence starts to grate on him.

 

“Oh nothing,” Laura replies breezily, “Just this is an interesting change from how these situations normally go. I never thought I'd see the day when eternally suspicious Stiles Stilinski wants us to accept someone without a 2 hour discussion about all the risks involved and how trusting any one werewolf off the street is all going to get us killed.”

 

“Hey, I'm nowhere near that bad!” Stiles says with indignation. He almost follows it up with a comment about how Scott isn't just _any_ werewolf, but he bites his tongue on it, when Derek's snort interrupts him.

 

“You are exactly that bad.” he says. “When we were talking about letting Isaac join you held us a one hour lecture about how his choice in neck-wear is clearly a sign of his mental instability and how he would kill us in our sleep. You trip-wired Allison's room for _two months_ after we decided to ignore your objections, even though it was Lydia who vouched for her. You argued against accepting Erica, even though it was _you_ who brought her to our attention.”

 

“The thing Isaac wore were an affront to fashion and I was right to be concerned about his mental state after what his family did to him! Allison's family are psycho's and it wasn't unreasonable to make sure she wasn't one. And it was important that you were totally in the know about Erica's situation.” he replies with a slight smile. He's used to this particular song and dance.

 

And he doesn't care what they say, it's important that someone makes sure the people they let join are trustworthy. Laura is too taken in with any sob story and Derek is such a big softie at heart.

 

“But Scott is different.” Laura says with an amused smile.

 

“Scott _is_ different!” he agrees. Laura's smile grows wider. “Any reason beside his dimples and cute ass?” she counters.

 

“Actually it's the fact that I've been spending the last month with him and he's exactly as disgustingly sincere as he appears, though the dimples and ass don't exactly hurt. As does the fact that he's also a healer,” he counters with relish.

 

Laura's eyes widen. “A werewolf healer?!”

 

“Late unexpected turning, remember?” he says. He can feel the smug smile, but he had been looking forward to the reaction to that little bit of news and sadly Scott had not thought it would be important to mention the little fact that he was basically _one of a kind_.

 

“That's unprecedented! That could change, it could change _everything!”_ she exclaims with wonder in her voice. “Why didn't he tell us?!”

 

Stiles shrugs, “Apparently where they come from healers aren't that rare and he's been doing it since he's been a kid. I don't think he understands how valuable healers are around these parts.”

 

“And you didn't _tell_ him?!” Laura asks, aghast.

 

“Oh, I did, but you don't know Scott, he doesn't have an arrogant bone in his body. It seemed to have slid right off.” Stiles can see the same calculations in her mind that he couldn't help doing himself the moment he had time to consider what a werewolf healer would mean, not only for the pack but for werewolves as a whole.

 

The Hale pack was respected well enough in the community, as part of the Companions. If someone needed help in protecting their property or with heavy lifting they could even help out. But in general people saw werewolves as brutes, good for fighting but not a lot else. But this, a werewolf who could _heal_ , who would be providing a service everyone desperately needed – it could sway public opinion in a way that nothing before ever had.

 

“Just please be careful with him?” he says.

 

“What do you mean?” Laura comments absent mindedly, looking at the door as if she could see through it to Scott.

 

“I know this is a big opportunity for you, for the pack and Scott will be happy to help, but he was really nervous coming here. If you give him the feeling that he's only accepted in the pack because he's _useful_ and not because he's _wanted_ and make him miserable, then I'm going to have to find a different place for him.” he says in a rush

 

Laura turns to him in shock. Stiles can't actually believe he said that either. He has never shied away from using anything and everything to make the pack secure, to make it _better_. Not since he found Derek, his first friend since Lydia left, in the forest, clutching the unconscious body of his sister in his arms. When he bartered away his mother's necklace to get Laura medical treatment he had sworn to himself that he would stop at _nothing_  to protect them.

 

The silence between them is broken by Lydia's muffled voice joining the laughter that had been half audible through the door to Stiles, but probably perfectly clear to the other two.

 

“I should check this out, before Lydia finds out about Scott's healer status and tries to snare him into updating her plant alchemy stock.” she says, throwing a look at Derek.

 

Stiles just kind of wants to get back inside, to be alone with his thoughts that are clearly out of control, to order them so that they make sense again.

 

Just as he is about to make up an excuse – any excuse – to follow Laura, Derek says quietly. “Are you sure he isn't just different because you are in love with him?”

 

“Wha- I” Stiles can feel himself going pale. In love? Sure he has a crush, but just because he just decided to put Scott's well being above the packs doesn't mean -

 

_Shit_ , Stiles thinks, _Shit, Shit Shit._ He should have noticed the warning signs earlier, maybe distanced himself a bit, but being with Scott is so comfortable, so natural he couldn't help just wanting to be _closer,_ all the time in any way he can be.

 

On the heel of that whole awful realisation he can feel himself panicking. Because Derek – the king of missing social cues - has spent an hour in their combined company and figured it out.

 

_Am I really that obvious? Please don't let me be that obvious to_ Scott _._ By the Gods, what if he is, what if this whole time Scott _knew_ and he just was afraid to say anything, because he was afraid that Stiles wouldn't introduce him or – more likely – didn't want to hurt his feelings.

 

In some corner of his mind he can actually feel himself start to hyperventilate, which is _stupid_. He's so stupid. He feels someone moving next to him, rubbing his back and he concentrates on his breathing, until he can make out the floor in front of him.

 

Derek has moved them close enough to the wall that Stiles can lean against it. Derek stays quiet while Stiles gets his breathing back under control. Derek stays, but he leaves his hand on Stiles' back a comforting, warm presence.

 

He finally lets his head roll onto Derek's shoulder and gets out a rough chuckle. “Sorry about that.”

 

“You don't have to apologize.” Derek replies as he always does when he has to calm Stiles down and the concern in his voice makes Stiles tear up a bit, “I didn't mean to set you off. Are you okay?”

 

Stiles wipes his face and takes a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah I'm okay, it was just a bit sudden. Am I really that obvious?”

 

Derek stays quiet for a bit. “To me you are. And you should probably talk to Lydia soon, so she doesn't get it into her head that you are keeping secrets from her again.” Stiles shudders a bit. The last time Lydia thought he was hiding something from her, she decided to share every single embarrassing thing he'd ever done in his awkward courtship of her in the worst company.

 

“What are you going to do?” he continues.

 

“What do you think? Nothing. Or I could write a book.” he chuckles weakly, “' _How to Have Hopeless Crushes on Unattainable People_ by Stiles Stilinski' has actually a good ring to it.”

 

“Why are you so sure its hopeless?” Derek asks. He sounds uncomfortable with the emotional situation, but he's still soldering on, because he's soft as a marshmallow inside where it counts.

 

“Are you serious?” Stiles turns to him, but his Eyebrows tell him that yes, Derek is in fact serious and would appreciate if you didn't sound so surprised.

 

“Well, how about the fact that what with coming to live in a strange city and having to learn all that werewolf mumbo-jumbo he has other problems right now than his awkward friend crushing on him? Or that I very clearly remember the talk Laura had with Erica about how she couldn't jump Boyd while he was transitioning into the pack? Or the fact that someone as decent and nice as Scott deserves someone better than a small-time thief that he met while said thief was breaking into his inn room.”

 

“Boyd was newly turned, it's not the sam- Wait you did _what_?” Derek asks incredulously and wow his eyebrows are doing a combination of concerned and _deeply disturbed_ that Stiles has never seen before.

 

“Broke into his inn.” Derek looks _scandalized_ on Scott's behalf. _And Scott thought people wouldn't like him_. Stiles thinks. “In my defence it was clearly marked as free-to-loot and the moment I noticed that he _wasn't_ in fact one of Jarl's lackeys I stopped having any burglaring intentions.”

 

“Only you, Stiles.” Derek says, shaking his head. “And he still _went_ with you _?_ Was he _high?!”_

 

“I know, right? Stupidly trusting, Scott is.” The Divines, Stiles can actually _hear_  the adoration in his voice, what the fuck is wrong with him.

 

“I still don't think it's that hopeless though.” Derek persists. “You may be obvious to me and not many other people, but it actually _is_ obvious to anyone with eyes that kid is crazy about you. And you aren't as bad as you like to believe. Maybe you should stop trying to find excuses not to try, because you are afraid he's going to say yes.” he says with the intonation of quoting someone.

 

“Am I in a alternate universe? Did Derek fucking Hale just tell me to take a leap of faith?” Stiles says on autopilot, because _crazy about you_ still echoes in his head.

 

Derek stands up and gives Stiles one of his rare smiles. “A good friend told me something like this once when I came to him with a problem of mine and I found it's actually pretty good advice.”

 

Stiles is shocked that one of his many lectures about trust and taking chances actually managed to penetrate Derek's thick skull and also a little bit moved. But because he's an asshole he can't help shouting to Derek's retreating back “Does that mean you've finally managed to make it to second base with Jennifer?”

 

The raised finger he gets in response is deserved and the slightly reddened ears answer enough.

 

* * *

 

“Now that you've gotten settled, the most important thing we'll have to teach you is how to find your anchor.” Derek says.

 

“Okay,” Scott says nervously. The pack has been friendly enough, but this is the first time he'll have to actually prove that he can handle training at all. He shudders when he recalls what his father thought it should look like.

 

_It won't be like that here_ , he reassures himself. People in the Hale-pack – even the ones that hadn't been here that long like Isaac – seemed to be too well-adjusted for training to be as violent as what his father had thought necessary.

 

_And if push comes to shove, I can always ask Stiles for help._ It doesn't work as well as it would have only two week ago, because since coming to Whiterun Stiles had made himself scarce. It could be just “business” as he said, he'd been gone for two months after all. But the flicker of _panic_ he could see in Stiles' eyes every time he tried suggesting doing something with only Scott had been telling a different story.

 

He tries not to worry about it too much, but he can't really help it. Everyone has been great with getting him settled and his mom and Jennifer get along well, but despite the fact that he has more company and even tentative friends around now than ever in his life, he _misses_ Stiles. He can be tending to patients or doing weapons training with Allison and he inadvertently, thinks about what Stiles would say to this or that story, about how he'd throw his head back and laugh, oddly shaped eyes twinkling.

 

He doesn't want to push however. He hasn't had any real close friends before, and the worst would be if he somehow scared Stiles away. But he already feels like he's losing him and he doesn't know _why._

 

A sharp hit to his head startles him out of his thoughts and he looks up into Derek's sardonic eyes.

 

“Did you just listen to a word I said?” he asks.

 

Scott blushes. “Not really, “ _Great first impression McCall_ , “I'm sorry.”

 

Derek scrutinizes him, but thankfully lets it go for now. “I was explaining what exactly an anchor is, so you don't have to just let yourself tire out to transform back.”

 

“What do you mean, have to tire myself out?” he asks, because while he told Laura and Derek that his father made him go through fighting drills till he dropped, the first few months after he was turned when they discussed their training, it wasn't like he did it because he didn't have another choice.

 

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Derek says, “How else did you transform back until now?”

 

“I just did it?” Scott replies cautiously.

 

Derek is quiet for a bit, while his eyebrows do something that looks complicated. _Stiles was right, they_ are _pretty expressive._  It gives him another pang, because he wishes Stiles was here to help him interpret them, so he wouldn't have to shuffle from foot to foot growing ever more nervous.

 

“Did I do it wrong?” he finally blurts out when he can't stand the quiet anymore.

 

“Not necessarily.” Derek replies slowly. “Explain to me how you normally do it? What do you think, what do you feel when you change back?”

 

Scott tries to think of it, but it's hard. His thoughts are so _different,_ when he's a wolf. It makes him a bit uncomfortable, because in a lot of ways it's easier to be the wolf. The world is simpler, people neatly divided into pack and non-pack. His wolf has been telling him for a week now to just follow his nose to where Stiles is and _sit_ on him, until he smells right again, like _Scott_.

 

“I guess I think of the people important to me. My mom” _Stiles_ he adds silently to himself, “what they'd think if I - , about how I'm not much use to them as a wolf outside of a fight. And it calms me down enough.”

 

Silence. Derek looks _stunned_.

 

“And no one taught you that?” he asks with weird intensity.

 

“No.” he answers. He doesn't want to think about the terrified face in front of him, when he had lost control the first time, the mantra of _what will mom think_ , running through his head at the time, which had made him be able to wrest the beast back under control.

 

“Your feelings for the people close to you is your anchor.” Derek says, looking at him in wonder, “I've never heard of anyone teaching _himself_ how to use it though.”

 

It makes Scott uncomfortable to be looked at as if he's so special, because he's not. It's the same look Laura gets when he talks to her about being a healer and Scott doesn't really know how to deal with it.

 

“Thanks. ” _Mom said to always accept compliments with grace. “_ I just -”

 

He looks helplessly at Derek, who suddenly breaks out in a smile – which wow he really should do that more often and maybe around Jennifer who can really appreciate it better – and claps him on the shoulder “You are going to be good at this, Scott.”

 

“Are you insane?” Scott says shocked, “I don't know what I'm doing!”

 

“I'm going to tell you a little secret.” Derek says, still smiling slightly, “No one really does, at the beginning. But you already figured out the most important part.”

 

“Not being a werewolf any more?” he asks.

 

“No!” Derek says vehemently. “ The most important thing is not forgetting that you aren't just the wolf, Just as you aren't just a human. You are both.” he grips his other shoulder, “There is _nothing_ wrong with being a werewolf.” he intones.

 

Scott can feel his eyes filling with water. He doesn't know what is with him these past few months. Maybe it's just been the emotional upheaval of having to flee the only home he's ever known, but he's found himself on the verge of tears more than he would have liked. But there is just something about the way Derek says it, so earnest, so honest. Maybe for the first time since he woke up as _something else_ he actually feels as if he's okay, the way he is.

 

Maybe Derek sees this thought, or maybe he just can't stand looking at people crying. Whatever it is, he pulls Scott in a rough hug, mumbling “Why do I have to handle the emotional support around here.” Which Scott doesn't understand, but he doesn't care, he just holds on.

 

Laura has told him in one of her history/pack knowledge lessons that wolves are social and tactile creatures and that he never should go too long without contact with one of them. But he didn't think that hugging Derek close – who never struck him as someone especially cuddly– would feel _so good._ The way he smells like home, like family already just calms something down in him.

 

It could also have something to do with the fact that he's become used to having Stiles around, to touch, to hold close every time the situation overwhelmed him. With Stiles around he felt as if he could do anything. And while he has been avoiding Scott since coming to Whiterun, he hasn't been doing the same with Derek and it shows in his scent.

 

“You are actually a really good hugger.” he finally says, against Derek's shoulder so it comes out slightly muffled. Second hand scent shouldn't be so comforting is what he doesn't say.

 

“What's that supposed to mean?!” Derek snarls, but he doesn't let go so Scott knows he's just teasing.

 

“Well what with the all-black leather clothing and the weird tattoos, I thought you were too cool for anything like this.” he takes a last whiff of Derek's scent trying to think _pack_ and managing for the first time to really believe it, “Or is it just to impress Jennifer?” he adds, disentangling himself so the way Derek hits his shoulder doesn't hurt as much

 

“You've been spending too much time with Stilinski!” Derek growls out, turning away to hide his blush. It dims Scott's smile a bit, because the not-really is on his tongue, but he shakes the thought off. He has a pack to get to know after all and Stiles isn't his babysitter. He has no claim on him.

 

He does throw a look at the door, thinking how nice it would be for Stiles to pick him up after one of these training sessions – the way he'd said he would when they travelled to Whiterun. He almost imagines smelling him there, but Stiles is no where to be found.

 

_Probably just his scent lingering_ , he thinks when suddenly a fist moves towards his face and he barely dodges.

 

“Hey!” he shouts, stumbling back.

 

“Second lesson, McCall.” Derek smirks. “Hand-to-Hand combat.” Well. This should be fun.

* * *

 

Walking away from the courtyard, Stiles calls himself ten kinds of fool. He just doesn't know if it's for going there in the first place or for leaving when he saw Derek and Scott. Hugging each other close.

 

He'd gone to pick up Scott after his training, because he just couldn't go on like this. The realisation he'd had was weighing heavily on his mind and for the last two weeks he'd found himself avoiding Scott. He just couldn't deal with looking at his wide eyes without panicking about saying the wrong thing. Or the right thing.

 

_I don't even know what would be which_ , he thinks, running his fingers through his hair and wrecking the style he'd found himself trying to impose on it after finally deciding to pick Scott up.

 

He'd been driving himself to distraction because every time he resolved to ignore his feelings so they'd go away like with Derek, Scott would do something so utterly Scott-like he'd find himself staring, entranced and having to admit that he just couldn't will himself into being over him. And every time he'd even thought about doing what he did with Lydia and confess, he chickened out.

 

But after even his father had sat him down and asked haltingly, if he needed anything at all. If he wanted to talk to him about something, in the tone of voice that always meant that he was keeping himself from mentioning his mother, it was clear that something _had_ to be done. He was worrying his _dad_.

 

So today he'd carefully picked out his clothes, done something with his hair and set off to the training hall to pick Scott up. And he wanted to just let things happen, because clearly trying to calculate the outcome has not helped him in the slightest.

 

And then he'd walked in on Scott receiving the most heartfelt hug from Derek that he'd ever seen that grumpy emotionally stunted bastard give and he'd just....left. Thank the Gods nobody had seen him walk into the courtyard and then leave a minute later, like an idiot.

 

He knew he was being stupid, he knew Derek was straight and finally moving in on Jennifer, but some part of him couldn't help thinking _Anyone would go for Scott_. Because it was true. Scott had been here for half a month and he had charmed every last person he'd met.

 

Isaac had been hanging around him, touching him without flinching. Laura clearly adored him. He'd seen Erica give him cookies, even though she _never_ shared her food without getting a haunted look in her eyes. Even Allison, the most suspicious person Stiles knew, though she hid it well, had invited him to a sleepover already. And Lydia had _allowed_ it.

 

And normally he'd be the first person to find this kind of behaviour suspect as well as to be quietly jealous of all that easy acceptance, as he'd always been since he was a child. But instead he could only ever think _Good._ Because Scott deserved this, Scott deserved _everything_.

 

The only thing he found himself jealous of, was that it wasn't him making Scott as happy as he'd seen him become over the last few weeks. Which was his own damn fault seeing as he'd been avoiding Scott, because of his panic. Which he now had tried to rectify and fucked up. Again.

 

Just as he's contemplating if beating his head against the nearest stone wall would solve that dilemma someone says behind him.“Stilinski you do not want to pay for the damages your thick skull would do to the wall on my house. Also what the fuck are you doing here?”

 

His feet had apparently unconsciously carried him towards Lydia's house, because he likes abuse probably. He throws one longing look at the wall, but Lydia would probably make him pay for any imagined damage done to it and also she wouldn't offer any sympathy about his aching head. _That's an idea though._

 

“Do you still have that magical booze you made accidentally?” he asks, looking at her through his eyelashes, “And would you be willing to share it with your bestest friend in his moment of need?”

 

Lydia looks at him long and hard, then snorts through her nose. It always makes Stiles slightly happy when she allows herself to be anything less than lady-like, because it reminds him that no matter what she says, he is one of the people she feels most comfortable around.

 

“I don't think I have much of a choice. You are looking even more pathetic than usual and I can't have you picked up for vagrancy in front of my house.” she sniffs, “It'd be bad for business.”

 

“You are the best.” he breathes, because she is and also because that alcoholic dream masquerading as wine could get anyone comfortably drunk in no time at all and was worth the head ache in the morning.

 

“Yes, I am. When you inevitably get your feelings all over my living room, don't cry on my new couch. Allison gave that to me and it's very delicate.” she says, opening the door.

 

“I'm not going to _cry._ ” Stiles says indignantly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Just, you don't understand~” Stiles is slurring slightly, but he can't blame the fact that he's tearing up on the alcohol just yet so he takes another swallow, “He's just so great and wonderful and nice and _so good_ and and - “

 

“And has a nice ass, yes you've said, “Lydia replies sipping delicately on her glass. “Several times over the last hour. Snot only on the pillow.” she adds sharply when he tries to list over and mush his face into the arm of the couch he's curled up on.

 

He scowls at her and she laughs at him which is just unfair and if he didn't have a healthy amount of fear, no respect of Lydia he'd wipe his face on the couch in revenge and not on the ratty pillow she shoved into his hands the moment he sat on the couch.

 

“You are laughing at me, you are a terrible friend.” he says.

 

“You looked like an agonized squirrel just now and I have more of this booze, I'm clearly an awesome friend.” she replies unperturbed.

 

She may have a point, because the booze is really good. Nearly as good as Scott. But nothing is as good as Scott, the only thing as good as Scott would be if Scott were here with him and cuddling him instead of the pillow. Which he wont. Because he's probably off cuddling Derek instead or having a wild threesome with Erica and Boyd. Or something.

 

A leather flask hits him in the face. “I wasn't finished.” Lydia says. “God you looked pathetic, actually you are, so much that I'm even thinking about giving you my hangover cure tomorrow.”

 

“You are a goddess.” Stiles breathes out, eyeing the flask speculatively, because he'd been thinking about stopping for now, but if there are going to be no consequences...

 

“Don't be so fast, I said I'm thinking about it. Because I've had to listen to you moon about Scott for a _solid hour_ and I'm at the end of my patience.” She's suddenly on the couch with him, her fingernails digging into his forearm.

 

“You are now going to pay attention to me and you are going to answer my question.” she states. Lydia is _scary_. “Do you like Scott?”

 

“Yes!” Stiles says, very pleased about being able to give a good answer, “In fact, I like everything about him, did I tell you how -” suddenly there is a hand on his mouth.

 

“Yes, you probably have. Do you want to be together with Scott?”

 

“I want to be together with him all the time, because like, have you noticed how in the morning his eyes look kind of different from later he gets kind of squinty and it's the most adorable thing and-” the hand is back.

 

“Oh god, why do I do this to myself,” Lydia mutters, “I meant do you want to fuck him silly and then go on disgustingly romantic dates under the stars or something.” She gives him a quelling look and lifts her hand slowly.

 

“Yes.” he replies meekly. He really, _really_ does. He wants to do everything, anything at all.

 

“Then – and listen very closely now - ” Lydia leans closer, “You. Have. To. Tell. Him.”

 

Stiles rears back. “I _can't_ . I just told you why I can't. He probably doesn't feel the same way, I mean he could have someone like _Derek_ why would he want _me_.”

 

“You don't know that, Stiles.” she replies and it sounds like something someone else said, but none of them _understand_. They don't understand how Stiles is dirty and no-good, how he's killed people and he steals and he knows, deep in his bones, that he'll never, ever be good enough. About how he's a _freak_ , with the blood of a beast-race and the moment Scott finds that out he'll be disgusted by what a freak he is.

 

He's not even supposed to _exist_ , Khajiit cross breeding with humans being more of a myth than anything else. Stiles knows, sees everyday, how people treat those cat-beasts and it makes him sick to imagine having to bow and scrape just so no-one spits on him. And from the few things his mother has said to him on the topic - when she taught him about how to hide, about how to deal with the instincts without anyone knowing – was that the Khajiit with their rigid, brittle honour would be just as quick to condemn a mixed blood like him.

 

_Not human enough to forget about it, not Khajiit enough to count_ , is what his mom used to say.

 

Lydia's eyes soften a bit, because he may have actually said that out loud, because alcohol is _evil_. She's one of the few people that he told and he may always stay a bit in love with her because she accepted him anyway. She pulls him into a rough hug, not even seeming to care that he's getting snot all over her nice top.

 

“You are _fine_ the way you are, Stiles. And Scott wouldn't be disgusted if he knew the truth about your mom,” she says in response to his muffled protest, “He's a werewolf he certainly has no room to talk. In fact, I don't think you are giving him enough credit at all.” She cradles his face in her hands, so Stiles has no choice but to look at her.

 

“Scott is wonderful, I grant you. And he also clearly thinks you hung the moon. That's part of the reason I like him so much,” and before he can respond to this, give voice to the warm feeling that gives him she continues with “Do you know what he talked about at least half of the time when he was here on his sleepover with Allison?” Stiles shakes his head, because it's expected of him and he can't let himself _think_ about it.

 

“About you,” she says quietly, “about how he thinks he's the luckiest person to have met you. About how you _saved_ him and his mother and he doesn't think he can ever repay you. About how funny and clever and strong you are.” and then because Lydia has always, _always_ been ruthless, “About how he's afraid he's done something wrong and that's why you wont talk to him. About how he thinks maybe now that you're home you remembered that there are better, _cooler_  people to hang out with and you've tired of him. About how much he _misses_ you.” Every sentence hits him like slap

 

Stiles can't think. He can't _breathe_ , because these feelings are too much. He's happy he's so happy that he's important to Scott, but he also _hurt_ him.

 

“I'm not- how- what- “ Stiles can't form words, doesn't know if he'll ever be able to, because Scott things he's _strong_. Scott thinks he's lucky to have met Stiles, as if it wasn't the other way around, as if he doesn't sometimes look at him and get hit with wondering how he ever _survived_ without him in his life.

 

Scott believes he tired of him. Scott thinks Stiles doesn't care about him any more. Right now Scott is in pain, because of something Stiles did, because he was stupid and let fear dictate his actions again. He remembers his father's face, the way his voice sounded all those years ago, saying “ _I'm sorry I'm not your mom, I'm sorry that I'm not enough.”_  and flinches.

 

“How do I fix it?” he asks

 

“You are hopeless and slow.” Lydia sighs, smoothing his hair down, “You go over to his house in the morning, and you _tell him_.” The thought still terrifies him, the loss of control inherent in just giving his heart over to someone, but he's hurt Scott enough.

 

“But first more booze?” he asks, trying to imitate Scott's puppy dog eyes.

 

Lydia shoves him away, shaking her head, but she's laughing, loud and unrestrained, “Fine, more booze, just no more crying and you'll sit there and listen to me complain about the idiots over at the academy for the rest of the night, because I've _earned_ that.”

 

Cradling the flask full of amazing mystery alcohol to his chest and listening to Lydia disparage one fellow alchemists whole family line he thinks he has pretty awesome friends.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Someone is banging against his door. Someone is banging against his door at – Scott checks the clock – 4 in the morning. Someone is banging against his door and if his mother gets to that person first she's going to _kill them_.

 

He jumps out of his bed as quiet as he can, because he doesn't want his mom having to go to jail for murder after they've just settled in. He gets to the door just as what sounds like slurred pleading is added to the rhythmic knocking and prepares himself to sending home another drunk when-

 

“Stiles?!” Because it _is_ Stiles, though Scott wasn't wrong about the drunk part. Stiles is swaying on his feet, eyes blown, when he finally notices that he's knocking on empty air. The moment he focuses on Scott he breaks out in a wide, slightly manic smile.

 

“Schcott!!” he cries out, throwing himself at Scott bodily, enveloping him in sloppy hug. “Schcott I'm scho happy, _scho happy_ to see you.” He leans more of his weight on Scott and _nuzzles_ his shoulder and Scott really needs to stop enjoying having Stiles this close again, because a) something is clearly wrong for Stiles to be drunk on a weekday and b) he may be starting to enjoy Stiles rubbing himself all over him a little _too_ much.

 

He can't stop clutching Stiles to him hard though and saying quietly, “I'm happy, too.” before he takes a deep breath – and it's indecent, how much smelling Stiles again relaxes something in him – and hauls Stiles up the stairs to his room, trying to stay quiet so his mom doesn't wake up. Stiles is surprisingly docile, at least as long as he stays in contact with Scott.

 

The high-pitched whine Stiles lets out when he isn't, shouldn't give Scott a thrill. He's _disgusting_ for revelling in his friends discomfort, but he can't help himself, it feels so good to have confirmation that Stiles still likes being close to him, even if he has to be drunk to show it.

 

He manhandles Stiles on his bed and sits down next to him, thigh to thigh, to keep him quiet and asks, “What's wrong, Stiles?” because clearly something is, if Stiles felt the need to come to him, after two weeks of only distance and awkwardness between them.

 

“I need to tell you someshing.” Stiles says earnestly, but his eyes keep crossing a bit. His pupils are elongated, even though the lights are dim enough in Scott's room that it should be hard to see even for Stiles.

 

“What is it?” Scott asks because he has no idea what this could be about and why it couldn't wait until later.

 

“It's about my mom,” Stiles begins, “She – you see – she wasn't normal, not like you.”

 

“Stiles, I'm a werewolf, I don't think I count as _normal_.” Scott interrupts, because he just doesn't get Stiles' weird insistence to see him as an average guy.

 

Stiles waves his objection away, “Maybe, but werewolves, werewolves are soooo normal, compared to my mom.” he moves closer trying hard to enunciate clearly, “Cause see, my mom's grand, grand, grand, grand, grand something parent was actually a Khajiit.”

 

Stiles moves back in a jerky movement, looking _afraid?_

 

“And I totally understand why you wouldn't want to be friends with a freak like that, but I still thought I should tell you, because you are awesome Scott and you deserve to know all the things, the things - “

 

“I don't want to stop being your friend!” Scott cries out, catching Stiles' hand. “And I wouldn't anyway, not for such a stupid reason. I knew anyway.” he mumbles.

 

“You _what_?!” Stiles screeches, and wow alcohol must play havoc with his glamour skills, because if he focuses he can nearly make out the whiskers on his face that he normally hides.

 

Scott shrugs, “Suspected at least. Your reflexes, your weird food allergies, your eyes.” Stiles blanches a bit and blinks until his eyes appear as human as Scott's. “We used to get a lot of Khajiit travellers at home and they were similar. So I just guessed.”

 

Stiles is clearly thrown off balance because his big declaration hasn't made a larger impact on Scott. He'd try to read him further because being drunk clearly isn't helping his dissembling skills, but Scott is tired and that also feels just kind of unfair.

 

“You knew?” he says again hesitantly, “And you don't mind?”

 

Scott sighs, “I don't mind.” but his insides are turning over into knots. He can now finally make a good guess why Stiles kept his distance the last few week, but it still hurts, that Stiles thought he could trust Scott so little. That he thought so lowly of him, that he'd be put off by a bit of a rare bloodline.

 

He still doesn't know what he did wrong, to suddenly give Stiles the impression that he could ever hate him, ever be disgusted by him.

 

“You're sad!” Stiles exclaims. Scott starts. He didn't think Stiles would be able to read his face in the half-dark and with how drunk he is, but there he goes underestimating Stiles.

 

“It's not important, I'm fine,” Scott answers, “And please keep your voice down, I don't want to wake my mom.”

 

“You're sad.” Stiles repeats in a whisper, “That's no good,” he shakes his head, but that clearly wasn't the best thing to do, because he loses his balance and lists into Scott, giggling a bit.

 

He's so warm and he smells amazing underneath all that booze. He wants to _kiss_ him, wants to gather him up in his arms and _never let go_ and -. Scott needs to _stop this_ , because his _friend_  Stiles is clearly in distress and doesn't need Scott getting his feelings all over him.

 

There is a hand touching the side of his face and suddenly Stiles is a lot closer, “You're sad again,” he says , “You are great and you figured it out and shouldn't ever be sad, Scott.” he continues earnestly and Scott would really like to figure out what is going on here, but Stiles is _so close._

 

“You are the best, the Most and I never meant to make you cry. I only want to make you happy.” he says and he looks so honest, so _real_ in that moment, Scott can't stop himself from saying softly “Then don't leave.”

 

He has only a second to feel horrified at himself and his stupidity, because now he's ruined everything, but then he feels lips on his cheek and his thoughts grind to a halt.

 

“Stupid moving face,” Stiles grumbles. Scott is pretty much frozen, so he offers no resistance when Stiles uses the hand on his face to move their lips together, properly this time.

 

Stiles' lips are soft and he tastes like alcohol and he has a bit of a stubble already, but nothing of that matters to Scott, because _Stiles_ is _kissing_ him and nothing has ever felt so good. He turns his body so he can lean into the kiss, moaning a bit. Stiles slides his hand in Scott's hair, tugging and there are stars behind Scott's eyelids.

 

They break apart, panting a bit. Stiles looks pleased, while Scott feels wild, out of control. He doesn't know what's happening, but he doesn't want it to _stop_. He also wants to wipe off the smug look on Stiles' face, make him look as dishevelled and helpless as Scott feels.

 

He goes for another kiss, nipping at Stiles bottom lip, feeling his breathing hitch. He sucks it into his mouth, enjoying the moaning purr he can sense with the hand that has managed to worm himself under Stiles' shirt. He doesn't know how it got there, but the feel of Stiles' bare skin is maddening, making him lean into Stiles more.

 

Who loses his balance and falls off the bed with a squeak and a thump that Scott hopes to all the gods didn't wake his mother. They stare at each other, wide-eyed until Stiles cracks up and starts giggling uncontrollably.

 

Scott cards his fingers through his hair and tries to calm down. Because while this situation is funny, it's not _that_ funny. It only is to Stiles, because he's _extremely_ drunk. And Scott was about to take advantage of that. Of the fact that Stiles maybe doesn't even realize _who_ he just made out with. Or if he did only wanted to have an outlet for the relief he felt.

 

He puts his face in his hands and when he takes them off again, there is a smile on his face and he meets the wide eyes that are slitted again without flinching.

 

“Let's get you to bed.” he says, keeping up a mantra of _don't look sad, don't look sad_ , because the last thing he and his dying self-control need is Stiles Stilisnki plastering himself all over him again.

 

After he gets Stiles settled on his bed which gives him a jolt of desire he feels guilty for immediately, but probably not guilty enough, because he's tired and a bit heartsick and he doesn't have the energy to lie to himself right now, he goes to the bathroom.

 

He curls up in a ball on the floor, takes deep breaths and wills back the tears, because nothing has been decided yet, maybe Stiles really honestly _did_ want to make out with Scott and no one else and even if he didn't he still came to _him_ and told him his secret. Lydia and Derek and who else probably already know, but he was still included.

 

And it does make him feel better, at least enough so that he can go back into his room, untangling Stiles from the covers with a smile and getting settled into the arm chair next the bed.

 

* * *

 

He's dying. He's thirsty and his head feels as if someone has taken several maces to it.

 

“Please kill me.” he groans into his pillow. Hopefully he'll annoy Lydia enough that she'll make good on her promise to share her hangover cure. But instead of her drawl telling him he's making a nuisance of himself an amused male voice says, “I don't think we'll have to take such drastic measures just yet.”

 

Stiles freezes. He thinks it's probably instinct telling him that the predator wont see him if he doesn't move. He slowly moves his aching head towards the source of the voice, praying to all the gods that Lydia's magical wonder-booze finally did turn out to be magical and changed her gender.

 

But the universe isn't that kind. Instead of Lydia's living room a small, well-tended room meets his eyes and there is a brunette bombshell staring at him where a strawberry-blonde one should be. The worried look is nice, since it will be a cold day in hell before Lydia shows sympathy for a self-induced hangover, but it still doesn't make a lot of sense.

 

“You're not Lydia.” he says on auto-pilot, because he's not and Stiles is still trying to figure out how he got from Lydia's prized couch, clutching a ragged pillow to sleeping on what appears to be Scott's bed. For some unclear reason, Scott rocks back, looking for a second absolutely _gutted_.

 

He tries to hide the reaction under a grin, saying “Sorry to disappoint,” but the cheer is so obviously faked that Stiles doesn't even pay attention to it, still trying to get his brain to work, so he can figure out why his little throw-away comment made Scott look like he's just been slapped.

 

The silence stretches on and he doesn't know what to say, still reeling with the fact that he's in Scott's room, after he'd finally decided to tell him everything, and he doesn't have one clue how he got here. Scott looks away, but with Stiles still laying down, it doesn't help hide his face, just gives Stiles a new angle on which to see him fighting back tears.

 

When Scott gets up saying with a wobble in his voice “I'll see about breakfast.” he still hasn't figured out what the fuck happened, but he thinks that if he lets Scott leave now it's going to be _bad._ So in his panic he grabs Scott's sleeve and pulls _hard._

 

Getting hit in the stomach with an eighty kilo werewolf is, surprisingly enough, not actually pleasant and the hangover really isn't helping. Scott tries to scramble back while Stiles wheezes, but Stiles doesn't let him. In fact, he blindly gets an even better grip on Scott's shirt with both hands and _hangs on_ while he gets his breath back.

 

Scott stops trying to fight him after he realizes that he's doing Stiles' ability to breathe more harm by resisting. When Stiles stops suffocating and has his nausea back under control he finds himself entangled with Scott in a tight hug and his breathing speeds up again for an entirely different reason.

 

“You okay?” Scott asks against his shoulder. He's sort of curled into himself, with his arms at his side, his hands in fists. Which really isn't a good sign, as these things go, but Stiles can't chicken out again.

 

He does loosen the tight grip he has on Scott's shirt, so he can move away if he wants to, which he doesn't even though his shoulders tighten even more and Stiles doesn't understand anything.

 

“Are _you_ okay?” he asks, moving back slightly. Scott seems tired, but most of all “You look sad.”

 

Shock is written all over Scott's face, which then morphs into quiet manic laughter until suddenly he's sobbing into the covers and oh gods what is going on. He gets a grip on himself pretty fast, it doesn't _matter_ , because Scott is obviously freaking out over something and that has to _stop._

 

He cautiously moves his arms back around Scott and when that doesn't make matters worse – though it doesn't seem to help much – he starts petting Scott's hair, keeping up a soothing stream of reassuring words.

 

Scott calms down after a while, so Stiles moves back to keep from crowding him. “Sorry” he says thickly, carefully not-looking at Stiles.

 

“It's fine. Mind telling me what this was about?” Stiles asks, trying to sound as neutral as possible to not scare him away.

 

“It's nothing, it's stupid.” Scott says, _obviously lying._

 

“Scott, I'm deeply sorry to say this, but you are a shitty liar and while I can understand trying to emulate my stunning success in this area it's a useless endeavour in your case.” he ducks his head down and when he fails to catch Scott's eyes, he wipes away an imaginary tear, “It is, I'm afraid an inborn talent and not something I'll be able to teach.”

 

Scott lets out a slight snort and his shoulders relax the tiniest fraction. _Success_.

 

“Do you-” he starts hesitantly, “do you remember anything from last night?”

 

_Shit_ , Stiles thinks, stricken. He'd been attempting not to think too deeply about the fact that he was supposed to be at Lydia's this morning and not in the house and bed of his crush. Saying _no_ , is clearly the wrong answer here, so he tries improvising.

 

“I'm so sorry about that, I clearly wasn't thinking,” because Stiles may not be able to remember exactly, but it's always a pretty sure bet that he was a train wreck and did something stupid. _Like going to your friend you have a crush on in the middle of the night, drunk out of your mind_

 

“In fact,” he goes on, when the apology apparently isn't enough, because if anything Scott curls up even tighter, “Coming here last night was a pretty awful idea.” Which he thinks is ambiguous enough to be fine, but it just makes Scott _cry again, oh gods._

 

“Oh Gods, don't cry, Scott, please,” because manic crying he can sort of handle, but this quiet weeping is creepy and doesn't fit Scott at all. “What do I do, what can I do, please talk to me!”

 

“It's fine,” Scott says again, but his voice cracks in the middle. “You are clearly not fine!” Stiles cries out, they are still lying next to each other and he can see how the tear drops make Scott's eyelashes clump together and it's all a bit too much, so he sits up, sort of hovering over him, afraid to touch him, because what if he makes it worse again.

 

“No, I'm not”, Scott finally admits ruefully, sitting up as well and wiping his eyes with the back of his hands and Stiles really shouldn't think about how cute he is when he does that, because actual problems here, hello? “But there's not really anything you can do, I'll just have to deal with it.”

 

“No, you don't,” Stiles finds himself saying, “I'm here, I can't see you hurting, without being able to do anything about it and if it's just listening I can do that!” he clutches Scott's hand when he moves to get up, “ _Please.”_

 

Scott doesn't leave, but he also doesn't say anything, a tear still slipping out now and then and Stiles brain goes into overdrive, trying to figure out what could have _happened. “_ Did your father find you here? Do you not want to work with Jennifer anymore? Is your mom sick? Are _you_  sick?” Oh merciful Gods, he's babbling again, why does Scott _do_ this to him, “Did Derek break your heart? Or did he pressure you, cause I can totally hit him if you want -”

 

“Wait,” Scott thankfully interrupts him, giving him an incredulous look. “ _Derek_?!”

 

Okay, so that whole thing was clearly only in his head and _he knew that._ Does it make him a bad person to be happy about the confirmation? Maybe.

 

“Or anyone! Derek was just an example of all the good-looking people around you trying to trip you into bed! Or being stupid enough to kick you out of it.” he's fishing and he knows it, Stiles is an _awful person_. And Scott for once seems to agree with him, because he's actually starting to look a bit angry.

 

“How can you ask me that?” he demands, “After what happened last night, -” he breaks off, tears his hand out of Stiles grip and stands up abruptly.

 

Stiles thinks he may have made a tactical error somewhere in this morning's conversation. And now Scott is _angry_ and walking away and because Scott made Stiles do stupid, un-Stiles like things all the time, the only thing he can think about trying to fix this is something he rarely if ever uses without someone forcing him to – the truth.

 

“What happened last night?” he asks in a small voice. Scott stops dead. “I actually – um, don't remember? I know I may have given you the impression I did, but Lydia's booze may actually contain poison or possibly reality altering substances, I never asked.”

 

Scott still has his back to him and just looking at the tense set of his shoulders make Stiles' hurt in sympathy. But all at once they drop in something like defeat.

 

“You told me about your mom,” and Stiles' stomach _drops_ , because what the hell past-Stiles, And you kissed me.” Scott adds quietly, still speaking to the wall, which Stiles is suddenly grateful for, because he doesn't even know what his face is doing right now. Probably nothing good.

 

“Um, have I mentioned yet that I'm sorry and also tend to make stupid decisions when I'm drunk?” he tries, because wow, Stiles has done some _extremely_ stupid things when he was drunk, like leaving itching powder in the clothes of the werewolf next door, but this may actually take the cake.

 

“So you weren't lying when you said you didn't mean it.” Scott sounds so defeated for a second that Stiles is prepared to deny anything he ever said until the words actually penetrate his head.

 

“Wait, you mean you _wanted_  me to mean it?” he says barely daring to hope and also apparently the problem here is the kiss and not the bit where he's one part beast-race, which what.

 

“Don't force yourself,” Scott says, half-turning and scowling a bit, “I know you probably thought I was Lydia, it's fine, I'll get over it.”

 

“No!” Stiles shouts, standing up“I didn't mean Lydia or anyone! I did mean you.”

 

Scott has now turned to him, looking sceptical and he knows it's now or never.

 

“I like you a lot, Scott.” he says, trying to inject as much earnestness, as much truth into the words as he can, “I _love_  you.” he chokes out, because the words need to be out there, he needs to make Scott understand.

 

For a moment nothing happens and Stiles feels as if his heart will beat out of his ribcage. And then Scott starts grinning, wide over his whole face, bounding across the room and sweeping Stiles off the floor into a spin that does not do anything good for his stomach, but he can't even care because for the first time in _weeks_  Scott actually looks 100% happy.

 

Scott sets him down putting their foreheads together and asks, “Do you really mean that?”

 

“Yes, I do.” Stiles answers, giddy, because he _did_ that, he made Scott look like this, as if all his dreams have come true and can barely believe it. “Now can I call do-over on our first kiss? Because I really think it's unfair that you remember and I don't. And I kind of need to kiss you _right now_ ”

 

“Do you?” Scott asks teasingly and by the gods, he missed this.

 

“Yes.” Stiles tries to nod sagely, but seeing that their foreheads are still stuck together it probably looks ridiculous. What it does do is prompt another giggle from Scott, “Reciprocity and Fairness are the cornerstones of every relationship and I really don't want to hurt our chances right from the start.”

 

“That makes sense.” Scott replies seriously, but for the twinkle in his eye. So Stiles moves in, trying to remember everything, every single little thing about this moment, including the pounding headache and Scott's slight morning breath.

 

Their lips touch an it's _good_ and it makes his heart beat even faster and it's with _Scott_ and Stiles may never want to do anything else ever again.

 

Between kisses, Scott whispers against his lips: “Me, too. Also I can see you worrying about the Khajiit thing, stop worrying, who cares” and it's like there are explosions going on behind his eyes, his whole body infused with warmth and he can't help the moan it startles out.

 

When he opens his eyes again, they've moved back to the bed and managed to worm their hands under the others shirt and they are pressed close enough that Stiles can feel Scott's erection pressing into his leg. Scott seems a bit embarrassed by it, but Stiles can only leer and waggle his eyebrows.

 

“Well, look who decided to join the party.” he says and his grin widens at the dirty look Scott shoots him. “Maybe I can help you with that.”

 

“Stiles,” Scott hisses, “It's broad daylight! My _mom_ is downstairs.” Which Stiles has to admit is a bit of a mood killer, but he's keyed up and he's been thinking about Scott all hard for him for _months_.

 

“We'll be quick about it, then.” he says against Scott's lips, shoving him onto the bed, dropping to his knees and unceremoniously yanking his trousers open. Scott makes a strangled sound above him and he looks _delicious,_ all rumpled and with his lips swollen like that.

 

He obviously takes too long, because Scott starts throwing furtive looks at the door again, “If you are going to do it, then do it. I really don't need my mom walking in on us.”

 

This is a good point, but Stiles is a bit sad that he can't take a bit longer to stare at Scott's cock, which is a nice length and already dripping pre-come at the top. His face must have betrayed him, because Scott adds “You can stare all you want later.”

 

Stiles doesn't know what he looks like when he says “I'll hold you to that.” but Scott blushes bright red and his dick twitches in Stiles' palm so he counts it as a success. _Back to the matter at hand,_ he thinks giddily. Scott makes an impatient noise again, so Stiles solves it by swallowing him down to the root.

 

The moan Scott lets out is so loud in the quiet room, Stiles is afraid for a moment that Melissa _is_ going to interrupt them. So he holds still, listening. But then Scott lets out an indecent whimpering sound and he forgets about mother walking in, about the hard floor under his knees, about anything that is not Scott and the way he looks, head thrown back, biting his fist, trying and failing to stop his hips from moving.

 

Stiles doesn't think he's been this hard in his entire life, but he doesn't even _care_  right now. He starts sucking lightly, and purring, which he's never gotten to do with any of his previous partners and the thought that he can with Scott, because Scott knows and doesn't _care_ , makes little pulses shoot towards his dick

 

The vibrations around his cock finally prove to be too much for Scott who thrusts into his mouth. Stiles is happy his answering moan gets muffled by the dick in his mouth, because he's pretty sure Melissa would have heard _that_. He didn't even know that's something he liked, but right now, he wants nothing else than this.

 

He'd ask for it – because Stiles has never been shy about asking what he wants in bed and he's already looking forward to all the blushes that will get him – but he doesn't have to, because Scott catches on pretty fast. He waits for him to move back, already mourning the feeling of him being that close to Scott, but Scott just move in tiny thrusts that barely move out of Stiles' mouth and it's perfect.

 

It's what he needs right now, to give Scott pleasure, but also to be this close, this intimate with him and the fact that Scott didn't need him to say that, that he just _knew_ sends a pulse towards his dick that make his eyes roll back into his head. And suddenly the low throb of arousal in his blood roars up and becomes unbearable.

 

The moment he gets a hand on his dick he knows he's not going to last, the rough friction of dry skin exactly right, so he adds a bit more suction and deepens his purr, because he suddenly can't wait for Scott's taste in his mouth.

 

Scott is getting louder above him and when he looks up again, he looks _debauched,_ all flushed skin and tousled hair. Seeing Stiles look up at him through his lashes apparently gives him the rest, and with two last thrust Scott is coming deep into Stiles' throat, keening when Stiles works him through it.

 

He sags right off the bed, his eyes half-lidded in the afterglow and he's so gorgeous Stiles has to kiss him again. The clumsy hand Scott puts over Stiles' on his cock and the way Scott's tongue chases his own taste in his mouth sends him over the edge in a bright explosion of sparks.

 

They are still sitting on the floor wrapped around each other, catching their breaths and kissing lazily when Melissa shouts up, “Breakfast is on the table and Stiles better not be stealing something again while you run around half-naked!” which sends them into another round of slightly hysterical laughter.

 

Scott finally manages to shout “We're coming, mom!” He gives Stiles a last lingering kiss and gets up with a regretful sigh. “I hope she wont ask too many question about why you are wearing my shirt.” he says.

 

Stiles looks down at himself. “I think she'd have more questions if I came down in one covered in come. Or no questions left at all, as the case may be.” Scott rolls his eyes and throws one of his shirts at Stiles' head.

 

“You should probably bathe first anyway,” Scott says wrinkling his nose, “You still reek of alcohol.”

 

“Are you going to join me?” Stiles asks, going with a leer and a wink for good measure.

 

“You are going to be like this all the time, aren't you?” and Stiles would care about his despairing tone, if Scott's eyes weren't still sparkling with happiness.

 

“If you let me.” he says helplessly, because he may just have to accept the fact that he's a sap when it comes to Scott. “Though you may want to keep alcohol away from me, because clearly I can't be trusted to make good choices when I'm drunk.”

 

“I don't know,” Scott says, giving Stiles a last kiss and smiling “I think this one turned out pretty well.”

 

And Stiles remembers that the last time he made a stupid decision this monumental when he was drunk he got a prank war and an awesome best friend out of it. And the consequence of this stupid decision is shaping up to be even better. He feels the smirk stretching across his face and Scott seems to realise the error he made.

 

“Oh Gods,” Scott moans, “I just gave you blanket permission to do all types of crazy stunts when you're drunk, didn't I?”

 

“Now, don't be like that,” Stiles snipes back happily, “I promise to do them when I'm sober, too.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was a lot of work and a lot of fun. Remember to check out the high-res art.
> 
> I did actually figure out literally everyone's back story so if there is interest in any of the characters, I might either just tell you or alternatively write some short vignettes.
> 
> Feedback is loved and I'd be especially happy if you told me if something doesn't make sense or I need to clarify it for the Teen Wolf only audience^^


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